On Byron's "Stanzas Composed During a Thunderstorm"

Do all lost men wander, I wonder,

As revelers in the ecstasy of fear,

Or rather, pigeon-like, they blunder

On’t, whither nomad breezes steer?

Faced against the harsh divinity

Do lost men quake and weep

In cloaks stitched with coiled sin

amidst fields of iron sown and reaped?

Herald lightening, swift-footed God

Come hither! might lost men cry

Tethered dog-like to steely rod;

The clanging earth, the copper bier.

Some men, I wonder, though must wander

Across a different, wilder path.

And sing in gleaming heathen voice,

Why cower in heaven’s wrath?

Like old Bacchus, drunk on light

And wind, some men, I think, must waltz.

And by chance catch me in their sight.

To my wasted frame they call.

For there I stood – Foolish Wanderer –

In the last tempest of the season;

Hoping? No, that fruit left for fonder

Weather. I’m barren save for reason.

In the day, I asked the sun.

At night, I begged the moon.

I think, though, they are too far

So now I parley in different tune.

Ye gale, dry as artful wit,

Will from burgeoning clouds you see

From my soul my life’s been ripped

Where once tripped hordes of glee.   

That man might lie with man,

Is that sin enough to die?

Herald lightening, bright-footed god,

Answer me in swelling cry:

“Tonight we shed no tears, you see,

But rage consumes our script,

For wounded Nature has decreed

That from her bosom beating heart was ripped. 

Tonight we shed no tears!

But burn God’s stars to ash

And watch them flutter to ancient ground

In shame from Nature’s lash.

Tonight we shed no tear for loss

For lost not, nor found, are we.

But now Time checks the cross.

Vanished must we be.”

Thus passed ferocious baptism

And came the quiet rain

To conspire that my schism

Be unified again.

Farewell, God, for Nature loves

And so Nature wears divinity.

Farewell wanderer, for here I was:

Lost, perhaps, in revelry.