I wandered against a black gale of gust
That blows down the heavenly misty sky,
That escorts an ominous rain of lust,
That yelps against the holy heaven’s cry.
It cries Blasphemy! Chaos! Death! Terror!
It serves nothing but it’s own vile revel;
It creeps in the mortal and his error;
It hides like the wiles of the ill devil.
Harrowing death! Hear its menace pursues
On angels, on mortals, on the soulless;
It brings them eternal woe filled with rues
Where despaired cretins weep and coalesce
And it all came from the darkest of squalls –
Misery, cruelty, contempt and pain;
For long all have acted as its mere thralls
And it forwards nothing but accursed rain.