This page has been validated.
THE HASHISH-EATER
And pass into a court the lilies hold,And tread them to a fragrance that pursuesTo win the portico, whose columns, carvedOf lazuli and amber, mock the palmsOf bright, Aidennie forests—capitalledWith fronds of stone fretted to airy lace,Enfolding drupes that seem as tawny clustersOf breasts of unknown houris; and convolvedWith vines of shut and shadowy-leavèd flow'rs,Like the dropt lids of women that endureSome loin-dissolving rapture. Through a doorEnlaid with lilies twined luxuriously,I enter, dazed and blinded with the sun,And hear, in gloom that changing colours cloud,A chuckle sharp as crepitating ice,Upheaved and cloven by shoulders of the damnedWho strive in Antenora. When my eyesUndazzle, and the cloud of colour fades,I find me in a monster-guarded room,Where marble apes with wings of griffins crowdOn walls an evil sculptor wrought, and beastsWherein the sloth and vampire-bat unite,Pendulous by their toes of tarnished bronze,Usurp the shadowy interval of lampsThat hang from ebon arches. Like a ripple,Borne by the wind from pool to sluggish poolIn fields where wide Cocytus flows his bound,A crackling smile around that circle runs,And all the stone-wrought gibbons stare at meWith eyes that turn to glowing coals. A fearThat found no name in Babel, flings me on,Breathless and faint with horror, to a hallWithin whose weary, self-reverting round,The languid curtains, heavier than palls,Unnumerably depict a weary king,Who fain would cool his jewel-crusted handsIn lakes of emerald evening, or the fieldsOf dreamless poppies pure with rain. I fleeOnward, and all the shadowy curtains shake
58
