Can we suppress the old Remorse
Who bends our heart beneath his stroke
Who feeds, as worms feed on the corse
Or as the acorn on the oak?
Can we suppress the old Remorse?

Ah, in what philtre, wine, or spell
May we drown this our ancient foe
Destructive glutton, gorging well
Patient as the ants, and slow?
What wine, what philtre, or what spell?

Tell it, enchantress, if you can
Tell me, with anguish overcast
Wounded, as a dying man
Beneath the swift hoofs hurrying past
Tell it, enchantress, if you can

To him the wolf already tears
Who sees the carrion pinions wave
This broken warrior who despairs
To have a cross above his grave--
This wretch the wolf already tears

Can one illume a leaden sky
Or tear apart the shadowy veil
Thicker than pitch, no star on high
Not one funereal glimmer pale
Can one illume a leaden sky?

Hope lit the windows of the Inn
But now that shining flame is dead;
And how shall martyred pilgrims win
Along the moonless road they tread?
Satan has darkened all the Inn!

Witch, do you love accursèd hearts?
Say, do you know, the reprobate?
Know you Remorse, whose venomed darts
Make souls the targets of their hate?
Witch, do you know accursèd hearts?

The Might-have-been with tooth accursed
Gnaws at the piteous souls of men
The deep foundations suffer first
And all the structure crumbles then
Beneath the bitter tooth accursed

Often, when seated at the play
And sonorous music lights the stage
I see the frail hand of a Fay
With magic dawn illume the rage
Of the dark sky. Oft at the play

A being made of gauze and fire
Casts to the earth a Demon great
And my heart, whence all hopes expire
Is like a stage where I await
In vain, the Fay with wings of fire!