Avenging Angel, The Analysis

1When the last faint red of the day is dead,
2And the dim, far heaven is lit
3With the silvern cars
4Of the orient stars,
5And the winged winds whimper and flit;

6Then I rise through the dome of my aerodrome,
7Like a giant eagle in flight;
8And I take my place
9In the vengeful race
10With the sinister fleets of night.

11As I rise and rise in the cloudy skies,
12No sound in the silence is heard,
13Save the lonesome whirr
14Of my engine's purr,
15Like the wings of a monster bird.

16And naught is seen save the vault, serene,
17Of the vasty realms of night,
18That vanish, aloof,
19To eternity's roof,
20As I mount in my ominous flight.

21And I float and pause in the fleecy gauze,
22Like a bird in a nest of down;
23While 'neath me in deeps
24Of blackness, sleeps
25The far, vast London town.

26But I am not here, like a silvern sphere,
27To glory the deeps of space,
28But a sentinel, I,
29In this tower of the sky,
30Scanning the dim deep's face.

31For, sudden, afar, like a luminous star,
32Or a golden horn of the moon,
33Or a yellow leaf
34Of the forest's grief,
35When the autumn winds are atune;

36There is borne on my sight, down the spaces of night,
37By the engines of evilment sped,
38That wonderful, rare,
39Vast ship of the air,
40Beautiful, ominous, dread.

41One instant she floats, most magic of boats,
42Illusive, implacable, there;
43Throned angel of ill,
44On her crystal-built hill,
45O'er a people's defenceless despair.

46Then sudden, I rise, like a bolt through the skies,
47To the very dim roofs of the world;
48Till down in the grey,
49I see my grim prey,
50Like a pallid gold leaf, uncurled.

51And I hover and swing, until swiftly I spring,
52And drop like a falling star;
53And again and again,
54My death-dealing rain,
55Hurl to the deeps afar.

56Then I hover and listen, till I see the far glisten
57Of a flame-flash blanching the night;
58And I know that my hate,
59That has lain in wait,
60Has won in the grim air-fight.

61Then I curve and slant, while my engines pant,
62And the wings of my great bird tame;
63While the sinister Hun,
64In his ill, undone,
65Goes out in a blinding flame.

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