Ghost of Icarus, rise and seeThis boast of Old Mortality,Called "Bug-O'-Night" by men that rideIn winged, sharded, whirring pride.On fateful mission high intent--Invaders of the firmament.
What is this triumph, bold and new,That drops its bolt from out the blue--This armoured bug whose buzzing steelHas made the world its terror feel?And what can be the monster thingProvokes it prove its deadly sting?
The hate that from its narrowed eyeHas struck adown the startled skyIs fixed upon a hamlet smallWhere spire-chimes to vespers callAnd Age responds while Childhood sportsAnd Youth to trysting-tree resorts.
Its tongue has dartled lightning red:Gaffer and swain and child are dead,The bells are strewn that lately rungAnd the shattered Cross to earth is flung.And Bug-o'-Night of the Flying CorpsIs gloating over one exploit more!
