Any angel drunk with discontent
May wonder if the damned desire
More than he.
Is his soul less free,
Or merely dangled over cooler fire?
The demon all to eas’ly whole
For hating all but hate
Can barely lie
To keep his angel eye
From risible confession, sour as great.
A motled man, more than angel
(They too measured on a noble line),
Denies no common sight
Once gathered can but whisper of design.