A Voice Is Heard

By the cold breast and serpent smile,
By the unfathom'd cults of guile,
By that most seeming virtuous eye,
By thy shut souls hypocrisy,
By the perfection of thy art,
- Which pass'd for human thine own heart -
By the delight in other's pain,
And by the brotherhood of Cain,
A spirit of the air,
Hath begirt thee with a snare.
In the wind there is a voice,
Shall forbid thee to rejoice.
And to thee shall night deny,
All the quiet of the sky, and the day shall have a sun,
Which make thee wish it done..
From false tears I did distill,
An essence which hath strength to kill.
From thy own heart I then did wring
The black blood in its blackest spring.