Page:Poems Barrett.djvu/66

Of any hope beyond,—as death itself,—
Whichever of you lieth dead the first,—
Shall seem to the survivor—yet rejoice!
My curse catch at you strongly, body and soul,
And He find no redemption—nor the wing
Of seraph move your way—and yet rejoice!
Rejoice,—because ye have not set in you
This hate which shall pursue you—this fire-hate
Which glares without, because it burns within—
Which kills from ashes—this potential hate,
Wherein I, angel, in antagonism
To God and His reflex beatitudes,
Moan ever in the central universe,
With the great woe of striving against Love—
And gasp for space amid the Infinite—
And toss for rest amid the Desertness—
Self-orphaned by my will, and self-elect
To kingship of resistant agony
Toward the Good round me—hating good and love,
And willing to hate good and to hate love,
And willing to will on so evermore,
Scorning the Past, and damning the To come—
Go and rejoice! I curse you![Lucifer vanishes.
 Earth Spirits.
   And we scorn you! there's no pardon
    Which can lean to you aright!
   When your bodies take the guerdon
    Of the death-curse in our sight,
Then the bee that hummeth lowest shall transcend you.
    Then ye shall not move an eyelid
   Though the stars look down your eyes;
    And the earth, which ye defiled,
   She shall show you to the skies,—
"Lo! these kings of ours—who sought to comprehend you."
 First Spirit.
   And the elements shall boldly
    All your dust to dust constrain;