Govern well thy appetite, lest Sin surprise thee, and her black attendant Death.
All hope is lost of my reception into grace; what worse? For where no hope is left, is left no fear.
First Moloch, horrid king, besmirched in blood, Of Human sacrifice, and parent's tears, Though, for the noise of drums and timbrels loud, Their childrens' cries unheard, that passed through fire, To his grim idol.
Now I see Peace to corrupt no less than war to waste.
O fleeting joys Of Paradise, dear bought with lasting woes!
... then there was war in heaven. But it was not angels. It was that small golden zeppelin, like a long oval world, high up. It seemed as if the cosmic order were gone, as if there had come a new order, a new heavens above us: and as if the world in anger were trying to revoke it.