Inferno

Grey hells, or hells aglow with hot and scarlet flowers; White hells of light and clamor; hells the abomination Of breathless, deep, sepulchral desolation Oppresses ever—I have known them all, through hours Tedious as dead eternity; where timeless powers, Leagued in malign, omnipotent persuasion— Wearing the guise of love, despair and aspiration, For ever drove through ashen fields and burning bowers My soul that found no sanctuary. . . . For Lucifer, And all the weary, proud, imperious, baffled ones Made in his image, hell is anywhere: the ice Of hyperboreal deserts, or the blowing spice In winds from off Sumatra, for each wanderer Preserves the jealous flame of sad, infernal suns.