In hell no measured command,
Be cause for all wept reprieved,
In sturdy tone he trembled far,
Himself through rock and fire,
Guided the pains ere brought,
Leapt through the aisle of woe,
Sung his heart at the isle of woe,
Then made ash from spoilt saplings,
Thrice slashed but cursed to live,
Drew sap from said trees in bitter height,
Nor sweet is littered such fire took,
Nor salt to sweat the burning rock,
No words be spoken, no art be found,
All the memories had shall slip away,
All the feelings had shall flow away,
All human thought shall dim from high,
In the midst of the darkest spot in dark,
The darkest room in the blackest night,
From hell was spirit tied to fate and rose,
Behind him remained himself he throws,
Meanwhile stood by glimpse of candlelight,
Whence soon he blows this lonely light,
Ere becomes him the darkest knight.

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Life, Mysterious, Nocturnal, Poetry, Works
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