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THE HASHISH-EATER
In amplest heavens multiplied to holdMy hordes of thunder-vested avatars,And Promethèan armies of my thought,That brandish claspèd levins. There I callMy memories, intolerably cladIn light the peaks of paradise may wear,And lead the Armageddon of my dreams,Whose instant shout of triumph is becomeImmensity's own music: For their feetAre founded on innumerable worlds,Remote in alien epochs, and their armsUpraised, are columns potent to exaltWith ease ineffable the countless thronesOf all the gods that are and gods to be,Or bear the seats of Asmadai and SetAbove the seventh paradise.
SupremeIn culminant omniscience manifold,And served by senses multitudinous,Far-posted on the shifting walls of time,With eyes that roam the star-unwinnowed fieldsOf utter night and chaos, I convokeThe Babel of their visions, and attendAt once their myriad witness: I behold,In Ombos, where the fallen Titans dwell,With mountain-builded walls, and gulfs for moat,The secret cleft that cunning dwarves have dugBeneath an alp-like buttress; and I list,Too late, the clang of adamantine gongs,Dinned by their drowsy guardians, whose feetHave felt the wasp-like sting of little knives,Embrued with slobber of the basilisk,Or juice of wounded upas. And I see,In gardens of a crimson-litten worldThe sacred flow'r with lips of purple flesh,And silver-lashed, vermilion-lidded eyesOf torpid azure; whom his furtive priests.At moonless eve in terror seek to slay,
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