I do not know what windings in the waste Of those strange sea-lanes brought me home once more, But on my porch I trembled, white with haste To get inside and bolt the heavy door. I had the book that told the hidden way Across the void and through the space-hung screens That hold the undimensioned worlds at bay, And keep lost aeons to their own demesnes.
At last the key was mine to those vague visions Of sunset spires and twilight woods that brood Dim in the gulfs beyond this earth's precisions, Lurking as memories of infinitude. The key was mine, but as I sat there mumbling, The attic window shook with a faint fumbling.
The daemon said that he would take me home To the pale, shadow-land I half-recalled As a high place of stair and terrace, walled With marble balustrades that sky-winds comb, While miles below a maze of dome on dome And tower on tower beside a sea lies sprawled. Once more, he told me, I would stand enthralled On those old heights, and hear the far-off foam.
All this he promised, and through sunset's gate He swept me, past the lapping lakes of flame, And red-gold thrones of gods without a name Who shriek in fear at some impending fate. Then a black gulf with sea-sounds in the night: "Here was your home," he mocked, "when you had sight!"
Spawn of the cellars, rising black, Midst darkened doorways, out a crack; To wither each bright blade of grass, And smother flying souls that pass.
Spawns of the cellars; evil slime; Heed not their calling, lest they climb As rays of light upon thy face, And steal thy spirit's resting place.
Wraiths of corruption, creep not in; For though their minds be steeped in sin, They hold a germ of terror yet, That baffles every evil met.
Seed of the tombstone, enter now; Their house is darkened to the mow. Your chance has come to right the wrong, That you have waited all too long.
Spawn of the cellars, rising fast, To seek the hell-hounds out at last: They cloudlike through the window creep, On those who sprawl in drunken sleep.
Dread putrefactions, find your breed; That you may pay that awful deed; That you may spread your bloating jaws, And sap their entrails through your maws.
Germ of corruption, speed ye fast. A thing is rising to its last; For greedy claws to grip around, And carry back to that mouldy mound.