Page:The city of dreadful night - and other poems (IA cityofdreadfulni00thomrich).pdf/74

 To be the Vestals of God's Fane above: And yet their kindred moan against thy love, With wild and selfish moans in bitter dearth.

Most holy Spirit, first Self-conqueror; Thou Victress over Time and Destiny And Evil, in the all- deciding war So fierce, so long, so dreadful!—Would that me Thou hadst upgathered in my life's pure morn! Unworthy then, less worthy now, forlorn, I dare not, Gracious Mother, call on Thee.

Next Thou, O sibyl, sorceress and queen, Our Lady of Annihilation, Thou! Of mighty stature, of demoniac mien; Upon whose swarthy face and livid brow Are graven deeply anguish, malice, scorn, Strength ravaged by unrest, resolve forlorn Of any hope, dazed pride that will not bow.

Thy form is clothed with wings of iron gloom; But round about thee, like a chain, is rolled, Cramping the sway of every mighty plume, A stark constringent serpent fold on fold: