Darkness
by Lord Byron (1788-1824)
I had a dream, which was not all a dream.The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the starsDid wander darkling in the eternal space,Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earthSwung blind and blackening in the moonless air;Morn came and went–and came, and brought no day,And men forgot their passions in the dreadOf this their desolation; and all heartsWere chill’d into a selfish prayer for light:And they did live by watchfires–and the thrones,The palaces of crowned kings–the huts,The habitations of all things which dwell,Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum’d,And men were gather’d round their blazing homesTo look once more into each other’s face;Happy were those who dwelt within the eyeOf the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:A fearful hope was all the world contain’d;Forests were set on fire–but hour by hourThey fell and faded–and the crackling trunksExtinguish’d with a crash–and all was black.The brows of men by the despairing lightWore an unearthly aspect, as by fitsThe flashes fell upon them; some lay downAnd hid their eyes and wept; and some did restTheir chins upon their clenched hands, and smil’d;And others hurried to and fro, and fedTheir funeral piles with fuel, and look’d upWith mad disquietude on the dull sky,The pall of a past world; and then againWith curses cast them down upon the dust,And gnash’d their teeth and howl’d: the wild birds shriek’dAnd, terrified, did flutter on the ground,And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutesCame tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl’dAnd twin’d themselves among the multitude,Hissing, but stingless–they were slain for food.And War, which for a moment was no more,Did glut himself again: a meal was boughtWith blood, and each sate sullenly apartGorging himself in gloom: no love was left;All earth was but one thought–and that was deathImmediate and inglorious; and the pangOf famine fed upon all entrails–menDied, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;The meagre by the meagre were devour’d,Even dogs assail’d their masters, all save one,And he was faithful to a corse, and keptThe birds and beasts and famish’d men at bay,Till hunger clung them, or the dropping deadLur’d their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,But with a piteous and perpetual moan,And a quick desolate cry, licking the handWhich answer’d not with a caress–he died.The crowd was famish’d by degrees; but twoOf an enormous city did survive,And they were enemies: they met besideThe dying embers of an altar-placeWhere had been heap’d a mass of holy thingsFor an unholy usage; they rak’d up,And shivering scrap’d with their cold skeleton handsThe feeble ashes, and their feeble breathBlew for a little life, and made a flameWhich was a mockery; then they lifted upTheir eyes as it grew lighter, and beheldEach other’s aspects–saw, and shriek’d, and died–Even of their mutual hideousness they died,Unknowing who he was upon whose browFamine had written Fiend. The world was void,The populous and the powerful was a lump,Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless–A lump of death–a chaos of hard clay.The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still,And nothing stirr’d within their silent depths;Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp’dThey slept on the abyss without a surge–The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,The moon, their mistress, had expir’d before;The winds were wither’d in the stagnant air,And the clouds perish’d; Darkness had no needOf aid from them–She was the Universe.
