Godward
Our angels are importunate.
When we will not keep the path
For any gleam of golden gate
Nor chant of cloudy choir,
A stinging grief they use for goad.
Their love is sharp as wrath.
They scourge us up the heavenly road
With whips of woven fire.
When we will not keep the path
For any gleam of golden gate
Nor chant of cloudy choir,
A stinging grief they use for goad.
Their love is sharp as wrath.
They scourge us up the heavenly road
With whips of woven fire.
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