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 When sunlight glows upon the flowers, Or ripples down the dancing sea: Thou, with thy troop of passionate powers, Beleaguerest, bewilderest, me.

Within the breath of autumn woods, Within the winter silences: Thy venomous spirit stirs and broods, O Master of impieties!

The ardour of red flame is thine, And thine the steely soul of ice: Thou poisonest the fair design Of nature, with unfair device.

Apples of ashes, golden bright; Waters of bitterness, how sweet! O banquet of a foul delight, Prepared by thee, dark Paraclete!

Thou art the whisper in the gloom, The hinting tone, the haunting laugh: Thou art the adorner of my tomb, The minstrel of mine epitaph.

I fight thee, in the Holy Name! Yet, what thou dost, is what God saith: Tempter! should I escape thy flame, Thou wilt have helped my soul from Death:

The second Death, that never dies, That cannot die, when time is dead: Live Death, wherein the lost soul cries, Eternally uncomforted.