The Black Flame

There rests a black flame
Woe’s Tide is her name…
And in spring’s chariot of perfumed night
Her silent bell strikes eldritch light.
 
What slumber cracked has driven
From the vaults of fallen Heaven
Such a lone tear to breed suffering
To the gold of one celestial string?
 
Who will sing to the pearl-wrought pyre
Of the lone God who lies in such fire?
 
His crown of stars now the birth of sighs
Soaring to the Dead’s eternal lullabies
That raise such dreams as sorrowfully rise
To the accursed of infernal skies
 
Where the storm-shod crowds in misery break
And bid the tomb’s chill hear to wake
To the Eden of that flame’s melancholy glow
Where the streams of Purgatory flow.