Spirits in Bondage: A Cycle of Lyrics

“As of old Phoenician men, to the Tin Isles sailingStraight against the sunset and the edges of the earth,Chaunted loud above the storm and the strange sea's wailing,Legends of their people and the land that gave them birth-Sang aloud to Baal-Peor, sang unto the horned maiden,Sang how they should come again with the Brethon treasure laden,Sang of all the pride and glory of their hardy enterprise,How they found the outer islands, where the unknown stars arise;And the rowers down below, rowing hard as they could row,Toiling at the stroke and feather through the wet and weary weather,Even they forgot their burden in the measure of a song,And the merchants and the masters and the bondsmen all together,Dreaming of the wondrous islands, brought the gallant ship along;So in mighty deeps alone on the chainless breezes blownIn my coracle of verses I will sing of lands unknown,Flying from the scarlet city where a Lord that knows no pity,Mocks the broken people praying round his iron throne,-Sing about the Hidden Country fresh and full of quiet green.Sailing over seas uncharted to a port that none has seen.””

— C. S. Lewis

“Thank God that there are solid folkWho water flowers and roll the lawn,And sit an sew and talk and smoke,And snore all through the summer dawn. Who pass untroubled nights and daysFull-fed and sleepily content,Rejoicing in each other's praise,Respectable and innocent.””

— C. S. Lewis

“Last night I dreamed that I was come againUnto the house where my beloved dwellsAfter long years of wandering and pain. And I stood out beneath the drenching rainAnd all the street was bare, and black with night,But in my true love's house was warmth and light. Yet I could not draw near nor enter in,And long I wondered if some secret sinOr old, unhappy anger held me fast; Till suddenly it came into my headThat I was killed long since and lying dead”

— C. S. Lewis

“Come let us curse our Master ere we die,For all our hopes in endless ruin lie.The good is dead. Let us curse God most High.””

— C. S. Lewis

“And O, my poor Despoina, do you think he ever hearsThe wail of hearts he has broken, the sound of human ill?He cares not for our virtues, our little hopes and fears,And how could it all go on, love, if he knew of laughter and tears? Ah, sweet, if a man could cheat him! If you could flee awayInto some other country beyond the rosy West,To hide in the deep forests and be for ever at restFrom the rankling hate of God and the outworn world's decay!””

— C. S. Lewis

“I look around the empty room,The clock still ticking in its place,And all else silent as the tomb,Till suddenly, I think, a face””

— C. S. Lewis

“I cried out for the pain of man,I cried out for my bitter wrathAgainst the hopeless life that ranFor ever in a circling pathFrom death to death since all began;Till on a summer nightI lost my way in the pale starlightAnd saw our planet, far and small,Through endless depths of nothing fallA lonely pin-prick spark of light,Upon the wide, enfolding night,With leagues on leagues of stars above it,And powdered dust of stars below-Dead things that neither hate nor love itNot even their own loveliness can know,Being but cosmic dust and dead.And if some tears be shed,Some evil God have power,Some crown of sorrow sitUpon a little world for a little hour-Who shall remember? Who shall care for it?””

— C. S. Lewis