Mist to mine eyes hast given, sobs to my breath:—
Yet thou hast sworn to smile on me in death!
Ah, surely thou hast kept for me a life
Of fragrance, light, and prayer beyond this strife!
But if my latest breath must perish here
All silently, in this dark atmosphere—
From now a flash of lightning I would be,
Coiled round thy name, and, murmuring ceaselessly,
A curse I would become to pierce Thy side—
God, the Arch Enemy, I would deride!