His bruised and blistered feet were bare; His head burned in the sunlight’s glare. On stones he slept, and worked and wept, “Ave Maria, Ave Maria!” In every blow or pang. Out of his dole he clothed the poor, And every hardship did endure; He blessed the meek and nursed the weak “Ave Maria, Ave Maria!” With each succeeding day. And begged for alms for those in need, A kind word spoke with every deed, With sinners dined and led the blind-- “Ave Maria, Ave Maria!” Until he passed away. And is his work done? Ah, surprise! Out of the tomb where low he lies A perfume blows, as of a rose: “Ave Maria, Ave Maria!” It sings in shade or sun. And he who breathes it, him it feeds, And stirs his heart to noble deeds; And one has said, “He is not dead-- “Ave Maria, Ave Maria!” His life has just begun!” THE DARK ANGEL BY LIONEL JOHNSON Dark Angel, with thine aching lust To rid the world of penitence: Malicious Angel, who still dost My soul such subtile violence! Because of thee, no thought, no thing, Abides for me undesecrate: Dark Angel, ever on the wing, Who never reachest me too late! When music sounds, then changest thou Its silvery to a sultry fire: Nor will thine envious heart allow Delight untortured by desire. Through thee, the gracious Muses turn To Furies, O mine Enemy! And all the things of beauty burn With flames of evil ecstasy. Because of thee, the land of dreams Becomes a gathering place of fears: Until tormented slumber seems One vehemence of useless tears. When sunlight glows upon the flowers, Or ripples down the dancing sea: Thou, with thy troop of passionate powers, Beleaguerest, bewilderest, me. Within the breath of autumn woods, Within the winter silences: Thy venomous spirit stirs and broods, O Master of impieties! The ardour of red flame is thine, And thine the steely soul of ice: Thou poisonest the fair design Of nature, with unfair device. Apples of ashes, golden bright; Waters of bitterness, how sweet! O banquet of a foul delight, Prepared by thee, dark Paraclete! Thou art the whisper in the gloom, The hinting tone, the haunting laugh: Thou art the adorner of my tomb, The minstrel of mine epitaph. I fight thee, in the Holy Name! Yet, what thou dost, is what God saith: Tempter! should I escape thy flame, Thou wilt have helped my soul from Death: The second Death, that never dies, That cannot die, when time is dead: Live Death, wherein the lost soul cries, Eternally uncomforted. Dark Angel, with thine aching lust! Of two defeats, of two despairs: Less dread, a change to drifting dust, Than thine eternity of cares.