TO SATAN
From the 'Poesie'
To thee my verses,
Unbridled and daring,
Shall mount, O Satan,
King of the banquet!
Away with thy sprinkling,
O Priest, and thy droning,
For never shall Satan,
O Priest, stand behind thee.
See how the rust is
Gnawing the mystical
Sword of St. Michael;
And how the faithful
Wind-plucked archangel
Falls into emptiness;
Frozen the thunder in
Hand of Jehovah.
Like to pale meteors, or
Planets exhausted,
Out of the firmament
Rain down the angels.
Here in the matter
Which never sleeps,
King of phenomena,
King of all forms,
Thou, Satan, livest.
Thine is the empire
Felt in the dark eyes'
Tremulous flashing,