The soul of Lilith

by Marie Corelli

On a rock ’mid the sulphurous surges I heard

A pale spirit sing to a wild hollow shell;

And his song was the same, every word,

And so sad was his singing, all Hell to the sound

Moaned, and wailing, complained like a monster in pain

While the fiends hovered near o’er the dismal profound

With their black wings weighed down by the strain;

And the song that was sung to the Lost Ones down there

Is called ‘Love’! But the spirit that sang was Despair!”

The strings of the mandoline quivered mournfully in tune with the passionate beauty of the verse, and from El-Râmi’s lips there came involuntarily a deep and bitter sigh.