Of crimson blood from Beauty’s mangled bosom.
Bright glowed the valleys, and the eternal hills
Seemed towering to the brassy vault of heaven
In gorgeous pyramids of living flame —
A mighty holocaust, and offered high
On the red altars of a crumbling world
To some fierce god of elemental fire.
It flamed—it faded—but “the Lord was not”
Upon the burning pinions of its strength;
His glance, which withers dynasties and thrones —