TO THE DEVIL ON HIS APPALLING DECADENCE
TO THE DEVIL ON HIS APPALLING DECADENCE
Satan, old friend and enemy of man;Lord of the shadows and the sins wherebyWe wretches glimpse the sun in Virtue’s skyGuessing at last the wideness of His planWho fashioned kid and tiger, slayer and slain,The paradox of evil, and the painWhich threshes joy as with a winnowing fan:Satan, of old your custom ’twas at leastTo throw an apple to the soul you caughtRobbing your orchard. You, before you wroughtDamnation due and marked it with the beast,Before its eyes were e’en disposed to dangleFruitage delicious. And you would not mangleNor maul the body of the dear deceased.But you were called familiarly “Old Nick”—The Devil, yet a gentleman you know!Relentless—true, yet courteous to a foe.Man’s soul your traffic was. You would not kickHis bloody entrails flying in the air.Oh, “Krieg ist Krieg,” we know, and “C’est la guerre!”But Satan, don’t you feel a trifle sick?
Satan, old friend and enemy of man;Lord of the shadows and the sins wherebyWe wretches glimpse the sun in Virtue’s skyGuessing at last the wideness of His planWho fashioned kid and tiger, slayer and slain,The paradox of evil, and the painWhich threshes joy as with a winnowing fan:Satan, of old your custom ’twas at leastTo throw an apple to the soul you caughtRobbing your orchard. You, before you wroughtDamnation due and marked it with the beast,Before its eyes were e’en disposed to dangleFruitage delicious. And you would not mangleNor maul the body of the dear deceased.But you were called familiarly “Old Nick”—The Devil, yet a gentleman you know!Relentless—true, yet courteous to a foe.Man’s soul your traffic was. You would not kickHis bloody entrails flying in the air.Oh, “Krieg ist Krieg,” we know, and “C’est la guerre!”But Satan, don’t you feel a trifle sick?
Satan, old friend and enemy of man;Lord of the shadows and the sins wherebyWe wretches glimpse the sun in Virtue’s skyGuessing at last the wideness of His planWho fashioned kid and tiger, slayer and slain,The paradox of evil, and the painWhich threshes joy as with a winnowing fan:
Satan, old friend and enemy of man;
Lord of the shadows and the sins whereby
We wretches glimpse the sun in Virtue’s sky
Guessing at last the wideness of His plan
Who fashioned kid and tiger, slayer and slain,
The paradox of evil, and the pain
Which threshes joy as with a winnowing fan:
Satan, of old your custom ’twas at leastTo throw an apple to the soul you caughtRobbing your orchard. You, before you wroughtDamnation due and marked it with the beast,Before its eyes were e’en disposed to dangleFruitage delicious. And you would not mangleNor maul the body of the dear deceased.
Satan, of old your custom ’twas at least
To throw an apple to the soul you caught
Robbing your orchard. You, before you wrought
Damnation due and marked it with the beast,
Before its eyes were e’en disposed to dangle
Fruitage delicious. And you would not mangle
Nor maul the body of the dear deceased.
But you were called familiarly “Old Nick”—The Devil, yet a gentleman you know!Relentless—true, yet courteous to a foe.Man’s soul your traffic was. You would not kickHis bloody entrails flying in the air.Oh, “Krieg ist Krieg,” we know, and “C’est la guerre!”But Satan, don’t you feel a trifle sick?
But you were called familiarly “Old Nick”—
The Devil, yet a gentleman you know!
Relentless—true, yet courteous to a foe.
Man’s soul your traffic was. You would not kick
His bloody entrails flying in the air.
Oh, “Krieg ist Krieg,” we know, and “C’est la guerre!”
But Satan, don’t you feel a trifle sick?