Oh throbbing, sweet, enthralling spell! Madly, madly, oh my heart-- Heart of anguish, heart of Hell-- Beat the music through your night-- Pierced the strain that the wanderer Wrought with fingers white; For last he sang--of the morning-- The song of the Sons of the Morning-- The fire of the star-souled Lucifer Before he had known a stain; That song which came when the suns were young And the Dayspring knew his place-- That joy, full born, that unknown tongue, That shouting chant of the Sons of God When first they saw Jehovah’s face. And the Wanderer laughed, then sang it at last Till it leaped as a flame to the forests on high And the tears of the demons were fire in the sky. [Sidenote: _How Lucifer seemed to make himself God._] And just for a breath he conquered and reigned, For one quick pulse of time he stood; By flame was crowned where God had been Himself the Word sublime-- Himself the Most High Love unstained, The Great, Good King of the Stars and Years-- Crowned, enthroned, by a leaping flame-- The fire of our love-born tears. [Sidenote: _How the angels were conquered by the sound of his music from afar, and the Demons were torn with love._] And the angels bowed down, for his glory was vast-- Loving their conqueror, weeping, aghast-- While we sobbed, for a moment repenting the past, And the mock-hope came, that eats and stings, The hope for innocent dawns above, The joy of it beat in our ears like wings, Our iron cheeks seared with the tears of love-- Was it not enough, Was it not enough That our cheeks were seared with the tears of Love? [Sidenote: _Demons and angels curse the singer._] So we cursed the harping of Lucifer The lyre was lost from his leper hands And the hell-hounds tore his living heart. And the angels cursed great Lucifer For his purple flame consumed their lands Till golden ways were desert sands; They hurled him down, afar, apart. [Sidenote: _The Punishment._] Beneath where the Gulfs of Silence end, Where never sighs nor songs descend, Never a hell-flare in his eyes Alone, alone, afar he lies.... Fearfully alone, beyond immortal ken He is further down in the deep of pain Than is Hell from the grief of men; And his memories of music Are rare as desert-rain. Ended forever the ecstasy And song too sweet for scorning-- The song that was still in vain; And the shout of the battle-charge of God-- Ended forever the Song of the Morning-- The Song that was sung in vain. SECOND SECTION A RHYMED SCENARIO, SOME POEM GAMES, AND THE LIKE A DOLL’S “ARABIAN NIGHTS” _A Rhymed Scenario for Mae Marsh, when she acts in the new many-colored films_