To The Angel
The statues weep for thee,
Their lengthy faces pained
They stand o’er yon fiery pits,
Their unhallowed hands stained.
thou sidle into the frigid light
thou pay homage to persistence,
thine misanthropic eyes penetrate
The bowels of existence.
I trow thou cometh hastily
On dove wings thee doth fly,
Seeking a wayward proby
Midst the blue and twisting sky.
Thou, who wrought the world to naught
Whence, comest thou?
Thou comest from the tallt land
Henceforth bequeath pain upon my brow.
Thine heart is surely wrought of stone
Thou pudh beast
Weep for me, I beseech thee
The frightened earth hath ceased