The Loves of the Angels
A charming poem in the form of the narration of three angels, with a few humans thrown in. By Thomas Moore, 1779-1852. Printed in 1823.
“Great God! how could thy vengeance light
So bitterly on one so bright?
How could the hand, that gave such charms,
Blast them again, in love’s own arms?
Scarce had I touch’d her shrinking frame,
When--oh most horrible!--I felt
That every spark of that pure flame--
Pure, while among the stars I dwelt--
Was now by my transgression turn’d
Into gross, earthly fire, which burn’d,
Burn’d all it touch’d, as fast as eye
Could follow the fierce, ravening flashes,
Till there--oh God, I still ask why
Such doom was hers?--I saw her lie
Black’ning within my arms to ashes!”
So bitterly on one so bright?
How could the hand, that gave such charms,
Blast them again, in love’s own arms?
Scarce had I touch’d her shrinking frame,
When--oh most horrible!--I felt
That every spark of that pure flame--
Pure, while among the stars I dwelt--
Was now by my transgression turn’d
Into gross, earthly fire, which burn’d,
Burn’d all it touch’d, as fast as eye
Could follow the fierce, ravening flashes,
Till there--oh God, I still ask why
Such doom was hers?--I saw her lie
Black’ning within my arms to ashes!”