And the mock-hope came, that eats and stings,
The hope for innocent dawns above,
The joy of it beat in our ears like wings,
Our iron cheeks seared with the tears of love—
Was it not enough,
Was it not enough
That our cheeks were seared with the tears of Love?
Demons and angels curse the singer.
So we cursed the harping of Lucifer
The lyre was lost from his leper hands