 | Sonnets of the Wingless Hours |  |
79
A FLIGHT FROM GLORY.
Once, from the parapet of gems and glow,
An Angel said, ‘O God, the heart grows cold
On these eternal battlements of gold,
Where all is pure, but cold as virgin snow.
An Angel said, ‘O God, the heart grows cold
On these eternal battlements of gold,
Where all is pure, but cold as virgin snow.
‘Here sobs are never heard; no salt tears flow;
Here there are none to help—nor sick nor old;
No wrong to fight, no justice to uphold:
Grant me Thy leave to live man's life below.’
Here there are none to help—nor sick nor old;
No wrong to fight, no justice to uphold:
Grant me Thy leave to live man's life below.’
‘And then annihilation?’ God replied.
‘Yes,’ said the Angel, ‘even that dread price;
For earthly tears are worth eternal night.’
‘Yes,’ said the Angel, ‘even that dread price;
For earthly tears are worth eternal night.’
‘Then go,’ said God.—The Angel opened wide
His dazzling wings, gazed back on Heaven thrice,
And plunged for ever from the walls of Light.
His dazzling wings, gazed back on Heaven thrice,
And plunged for ever from the walls of Light.
| Sonnets of the Wingless Hours | |