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• We whose home is the Beryl,
• Fire-spirits of dread desire,
• Who entered in
• By a secret sin,
• 'Gainst whom all powers that strive with ours are sterile,—
• We cry, Woe to thee, mother!
• What hast thou taught her, the girl thy daughter,
• That she & none other
• Should this dark morrow to her deadly sorrow imperil?
• 10What were her eyes
• But the fiend's own spies,
• O mother,
• And shall We not fee her, our proper prophet & seër?
• Go to her, mother,
• Even thou, yea thou and none other,
• Thou, from the Beryl:
• Her fee must thou take her,
• Her fee that We send, & make her,
• Even in this hour, her sin's unsheltered avower.
• 20Whose steed did neigh,
• Riderless, bridle-less,
• At her gate before it was day?
• Lo! where doth hover
• The soul of her lover?
• She sealed his doom, she, she was the sworn approver,—
• Whose eyes were so wondrous wise,
• Yet blind, ah! blind to his peril!
• For stole not We in
• By Through a love-linked sin,
• 30To whom all powers at war with ours are sterile,—
• Fire-spirits of dread desire,
• We whose home is the Beryl?

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• We whose throne is the Beryl,
• Dire-gifted spirits of fire,
• Who for a twin
• Leash Sorrow to Sin,
• Who on no flower refrain to lour with peril,—
• We cry,—O desolate daughter!
• Thou and thy mother share newer shame with each other
• Than last night's slaughter.
• Awake & tremble, for our curses assemble!
• 10What more, that thou know'st not yet,—
• That life nor death shall forget?
• No help from Heaven,—thy woes heart-riven are sterile!
• O, once a maiden,
• With yet worse sorrow can any morrow be laden?
• It waits for thee,
• It looms, it must be,
• O lost among women,—
• It comes and thou canst not flee.
• Amen to the omen,
• 20Says the voice of the Beryl.
• Thou sleep'st? Awake,—
• What dar'st thou yet for his sake,
• Who each for other did God's own Future imperil?
• Dost dare to live,—
• What! live to cower with songs each hour must give?
• Say, wilt thou die?
• Yea, with thy lover 'neath Hell's cloud-cover to fly,—
• Hopeless, yet not apart,
• Cling heart to heart,
• 30And beat through the nether storm-eddying winds together?
• Shall this be so?
• There thou shalt meet him, but may'st thou greet him? ah no!
• He loves, but thee he hoped never more to see,—
• He sighed as he died,
• But with never a thought for thee.
• Alone!
• Alone, for ever alone,—
• Whose eyes were such wondrous spies for the fate foreshown!
• Lo! have not We leashed the twin
• 40Of endless Sorrow to Sin,—
• Who on no flower refrain to lour with peril,—
• Dire-gifted spirits of fire,
• We whose throne is the Beryl?

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• We, cast forth from the Beryl,
• Gyre-circling spirits of fire,
• Whose pangs begin
• With God's grace to sin,
• For whose spent powers the immortal hours are sterile,—
• Woe! must We behold this mother
• Find grace in her dead child's face, & doubt of none other
• But that perfect pardon, alas! hath assured her guerdon?
• Woe! must We behold this daughter,
• 10Made clean from the soil of sin wherewith We had fraught her,
• Shake off a man's blood like water?
• Write up her story
• On the Gate of Heaven's glory,
• Whom there We behold so fair in shining apparel,
• And beneath her the ruin
• Of our own undoing!
• Alas, the Beryl!
• We had for a foeman
• But one weak woman;
• 20In one day's strife,
• Her hope fell dead from her life;
• And yet no iron,
• Her soul to environ,
• Could this manslayer, this false soothsayer imperil!
• Lo, where she bows
• In the Holy House!
• Who now shall dissever her soul from its joy for ever,
• While every ditty
• Of love & plentiful pity
• 30Fills the White City,
• And the floor of Heaven to her feet for ever is given?
• Hark, a voice cries “Flee!”
• Woe! woe! what shelter have We,
• Whose pangs begin
• With God's grace to sin,
• For whose spent powers the immortal hours are sterile,
• Gyre-circling spirits of fire,
• We, cast forth from the Beryl?

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