What is the tumult among the stars

That have shone so still till now?

What are the furrows of pain and wrath

Upon the immortal brow?


What is the beauty that flames so bright

Athwart the awful dawn?

She has taken flesh, she is come to judge

The thrones ye rule upon


Quail ye kings for an end is come

In the birth of Babalon


O popes and kings and the little gods

Are sick and sad and wan

To see the crismon star that bursts

Like blood upon the dawn


The gates shall fall and the irons break

In the birth of Babalon


Her mouth is red and her breasts are fair

And her loins are full of fire

And her lust is strong as a men is strong

In the heat of her desire


And her whoredom is holy as virtue is foul

Beneath the holy sky

And her kisses will wanton the world away

In passion that shall not die