The Thirst of Satan

By George Sterling

In dream I saw the starry disarray
    (That battle-dust of matter's endless war)
    Astir with some huge passing, and afar
Beheld the troubled constellations sway
In winds of insurrection and dismay,
    Till, from that magnitude whose ages are
    But moments in the cycle of the star,
There swept a Shadow on our ghost of day—

A Shape that clutched the deviating earth
    And checked its headlong flight and held it fast,
        Draining the bitter oceans one by one.
Then, to the laughter of infernal mirth,
    The ruined chalice droned athwart the Vast,
        Hurled in the face of the offended sun.

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