Of auric realms where censers pour
Violaceous fumes thro' the air.
And in the deep-hued depths of gore,
(Blind bowels in Betelguese's hold)
Gyte vandals that a Dragon bore
Sleep with one eye as Midnight rules
These sons of Circe whom pyres adore;
Their thoughts vie with the luring fold,
Each sleepless orb glares like a boar—
Infernal hounds of shambling ghouls!
Porphyry mounts where crystals glare—
Twin carcants strung on idols' thighs
Whereon stones, blaze like fire bright,
And moonstones add their silver sheen,
A Circean draught, boiled in the air,
Is poured on cippus where Set lies;
Where vanquished Soldans sleep each night,
A greenish fungus-torch doth gleam.
Giant battles have been fought in hell,
Principalities rot in dust,
The tombs of kings speak of the past
