O best beloved, who on Patmos' isle
Heard trumpet voices summon thee on high,
Seeing the gates of glory swing the while,
What meant that angel with his awful cry?
" Fallen! Fallen! Fallen!
Is Babylon the great!
Demons and vultures claim her,
And things of fear and hate. "

And tell us, frenzied prophet, our hearts are burning so,
What meant that other angel, so long, so long ago?

" Woe, woe to Babylon! In one day comes her doom,
The wrath of God shall smite and utterly consume;
Mourning and plagues shall come, famine and death and fire,
For God the Lord has judged her, and awful is his ire.

" Woe, woe to Babylon! Her dreadful day is here;
Far off the kings of earth stand weeping in their fear,
And all the merchants wail and cry in anguish sore
Because their merchandise none buyeth any more.

" Woe, woe to Babylon! For there no more are sold
Silver and precious stones, fine linen, purple, gold.
Woe, woe the splendid city! Never there again
Shall any man buy wheat, cattle, or souls of men.

" Woe, woe to Babylon! For after this dread day
No man on flute or harp within her walls shall play;
And never shall be beard the voice of bride or groom —
Woe, woe to Babylon! Behold her fearful doom! "

I have read it — this wonderful vision;
I have studied and pondered it o'er,
While hummed in my ears the derision
Of the city's continuous roar.

Oh, to read it, and drown the soul in it;
To gloat, perhaps more than is meet;
To swoon o'er it — then in a minute
To be roused by the sounds of the street!

Splendid dreamer! Your promise ecstatic
Is before me by day and by night,
But it mocks me the least in my attic
With windows and shutters closed tight.