TRAMPLING a dark hill, a red sun athwart, I saw a host that rent their clothes and hair, And dashed their spread hands against that sunset glare, And cried, " Go from us, God, since God thou art! Utterly from our coasts and towns depart, Court, camp, and senate-hall, and mountain bare: Our pomp Thou troublest, and our feast dost scare, And with Thy temples dost confuse our mart! Depart Thou from our hearing and our seeing: Depart Thou from the works and ways of men; Their laws, their thoughts, the inmost of their being: Black Nightmare, hence! that earth may breathe again. " Can God depart? I said. Then one replied, Close by-" Not so: each Sin at heart is Deicide." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RHYMES OF THE DAY by GEORGE SANTAYANA OWEN SEAMAN; ESTABLISHES ENTENE CORDIALE IN MANNER GUY WETMORE CARRYL by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THISTLE by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS ON MY THIRTY-THIRD BIRTHDAY by GEORGE GORDON BYRON TO THOMAS MOORE (1) by GEORGE GORDON BYRON AVE ATQUE VALE; IN MEMORY OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE FINDING CYNTHIA IN PAIN, AND CRYING; A SONNET by PHILIP AYRES |