Where women cry for torture in their love.
Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Father of those whom God’s tempestuous ire
Has flung from Paradise with sword and fire,
Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Satan, to thee be praise upon the Height
Where thou wast king of old, and in the night
Of Hell, where thou dost dream on silently.
Grant that one day beneath the Knowledge-tree,
When it shoots forth to grace thy royal brow,
My soul may sit, that cries upon thee now.