Page:Betelguese, a trip through hell.djvu/88

80 And prowling apes get drunk with wine,

We turn each thought to coral eyes

That seas have blurred with coffined night,

And whisper deeds wrought in silence.

A quiver that the tomb-sweat bore

When walls were split with Typhon's ire;

And monstrous shapes that carved the light

As dragon-worms brought pestilence

To souls who grovel on this shore,

Proclaim each gyving djinnee sire.

And dryades whom the mists have struck

With ague—A Sceptre of Despair!

(Sklayres to the night, and suns unstunned)

Dank dulse, where templed vaults of man,

Coarse-grained, who gambled with king Luck,

'Mid pulse of life below the air,

Shake at the throb of this unsummed

Sphere, where haunted thoughts and dreams scan

Athward at a untower'd home.

Where vitals that the glow-worm lit—