The Dark Angel

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DARK Angel, with thine aching lust
 To rid the world of penitence:
 Malicious Angel, who still dost
 My soul such subtile violence!

 Because of thee, no thought, no thing,
 Abides for me undesecrate:
 Dark Angel, ever on the wing,
 Who never reachest me too late!

 When music sounds, then changest thou
 Its silvery to a sultry fire:
 Nor will thine envious heart allow
 Delight untortured by desire.

 Through thee, the gracious Muses turn,
 To Furies, O mine Enemy!
 And all the things of beauty burn
 With flames of evil ecstasy.

 Because of thee, the land of dreams
 Becomes a gathering place of fears:
 Until tormented slumber seems
 One vehemence of useless tears.

 When sunlight glows upon the flowers,
 Or ripples down the dancing sea:
 Thou, with thy troop of passionate powers,
 Beleaguerest, bewilderest, me.

 Within the breath of autumn woods,
 Within the winter silences:
 Thy venomous spirit stirs and broods,
 O Master of impieties!

 The ardour of red flame is thine,
 And thine the steely soul of ice:
 Thou poisonest the fair design
 Of nature, with unfair device.

 Apples of ashes, golden bright;
 Waters of bitterness, how sweet!
 O banquet of a foul delight,
 Prepared by thee, dark Paraclete!

 Thou art the whisper in the gloom,
 The hinting tone, the haunting laugh:
 Thou art the adorner of my tomb,
 The minstrel of mine epitaph.

 I fight thee, in the Holy Name!
 Yet, what thou dost, is what God saith:
 Tempter! should I escape thy flame,
 Thou wilt have helped my soul from Death:

 The second Death, that never dies,
 That cannot die, when time is dead:
 Live Death, wherein the lost soul cries,
 Eternally uncomforted.

 Dark Angel, with thine aching lust!
 Of two defeats, of two despairs:
 Less dread, a change to drifting dust,
 Than thine eternity of cares.

 Do what thou wilt, thou shalt not so,
 Dark Angel! triumph over me:
 Lonely, unto the Lone I go;
 Divine, to the Divinity.

© Lionel Pigot Johnson