Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss

Take heed lest passion sway Thy judgement to do aught, which else free will Would not admit.

And, when night Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.

Such sober certainty of waking bliss.

Still paying, still to owe. Eternal woe!

O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse Without all hope of day!

Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony.