Poems By Mary Elizabeth Coleridge |
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| XXXIV. | XXXIVTHE DEVIL'S FUNERAL |
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 | Poems |  |
XXXIV
THE DEVIL'S FUNERAL
The Devil is dead, good people all!
Who are the bearers that bear the pall?
Who are the bearers that bear the pall?
One of them thinks he has slain God too,
With the self-same sword that Satan slew.
With the self-same sword that Satan slew.
One of them thinks he has saved God's life;
The Devil was ever the God of strife.
The Devil was ever the God of strife.
A purple pall above him spread!
A king it is that is lying dead.
A king it is that is lying dead.
The worst of kings never ruled so well
As this magnificent King of Hell.
As this magnificent King of Hell.
33
What is the guerdon of all his pains?
He is dead himself, but Hell remains.
He is dead himself, but Hell remains.
He forged his coffin before he died.
'Twas made of gold that was seven times tried:
'Twas made of gold that was seven times tried:
The glittering golden words of those,
Who counted themselves his chiefest foes.
Who counted themselves his chiefest foes.
Where will you bury him? Not on earth!
In poison flowers he would come to birth.
In poison flowers he would come to birth.
We will not cast him into the sea.
The winds and the waves would set him free.
The winds and the waves would set him free.
Lay him out straight on the funeral pyre!
All his life he has lived in fire.
All his life he has lived in fire.
And lo! as the crackling flame burns bright,
Satan transformed to an angel of light,
Satan transformed to an angel of light,
That he may work more utter woe
Than ever he worked when he dwelt below.
Than ever he worked when he dwelt below.
| Poems | |