But go you out beyond the gateway, Cleave you the woods and pass the plain, Cross you the frontier down, and straightway The trees will end, the grass will wane, And you will come to a wilderness Of sticks and parchèd barrenness.
The middle of the land is this, A tawny desert midmost set, Barren of living things it is, Saving at night some vampires flit That nest them in the farther marish Where all save vilest things must perish.
Here in this reedy marsh of green And oily pools, swarm insects fat And birds of prey and beasts obscene, Things that the traveller shudders at, All cunning things that creep and fly To suck men's blood until they die.
Rarely from hence does aught escape Into the world of outer light, But now and then some sable shape Outward will dash in sudden flight; And men stand stonied or distraught To know the loathly deed or thought.
But, ah! beyond the marsh you reach A purulent place more vile than all, A festering lake too foul for speech, Rotten and black, with coils acrawl, Where writhe with lecherous squeakings shrill Horrors that make the heart stand still.
There, 'neath a heaven diseased, it lies, The mere alive with slimy worms, With perverse terrible infamies, And murders and repulsive forms That have no name, but slide here deep Whilst I, their holder, silence keep.
[To F., who complained of his vagueness and lack of dogmatic statement]
Not, I suppose, since I deny Appearance is reality, And doubt the substance of the earth Does your remonstrance come to birth; Not that at once I both affirm 'Tis not the skin that makes the worm And every tactile thing with mass Must find its symbol in the grass And with a cool conviction say Even a critic's more than clay And every dog outlives his day. This kind of vagueness suits your view, You would not carp at it; for you Did never stand with those who take Their pleasures in a world opaque. For you a tree would never be Lovely were it but a tree, And earthly splendours never splendid If by transience unattended. Your eyes are on a farther shore Than any of earth; you not adore As godhead God's dead hieroglyph, Nor would you be perturbed if Some prophet with a voice of thunder And avalanche arm should blast and founder The logical pillars that maintain This visible world which loads the brain, Loads the brain and withers the heart And holds man from his God apart.