The Vision of Judgment 061

LXI 

When Michael saw this host, he first grew pale, 
As angels can; next, like Italian twilight, 
He turn'd all colours - as a peacock's tail, 
Or sunset streaming through a Gothic skylight 
In some old abbey, or a trout not stale, 
Or distant lightning on the horizon by night, 
Or a fresh rainbow, or a grand review 
Of thirty regiments in red, green, and blue. 

George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron (1788-1824)
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