My heart is dark, in my fear-procreant brain
Bad begets worse.
For not from heaven the gods behold in vain
Hands red with slaughter. The black-mantled train[f17]
Who watch and wait,
In their own hour shall turn to bane
The bliss that grew from godless gain.
The mighty man with heart elate
Shall fall; even as the sightless shades,
The great man’s glory fades.