III

A star has fallen upon the earth

Mid the benighted nations,

      A quenchless atom of immortal light,

      A living spark of Night,

A cresset shaken from the constellations.

      Swifter than the thunder fell

      To the heart of Earth, the well

      Where its pulses flow and beat,

      And unextinct in that cold source

      Burns, and oncourse

      Guides the sphere which is its prison,

Like an angelic spirit pent

In a form of mortal birth,

      Till, as a spirit half-arisen

Shatters its charnel, it has rent,

In the rapture of its mirth,

The thin and painted garment of the Earth,

Ruining its chaos—a fierce breath

Consuming all its forms of living death.