With immemorial chanting to the moon,

And cosmic incantation, dost thou crave

Rest to be found not till thy wild be strewn

Frigid and desert over earth's last grave?

Thou seemest with immensity mad, blind—

With raving deaf, with wandering forlorn;

Parent of Demogorgon whose dire mind

Is night and earthquake, shapeless shame and scorn

Of the o'ermounting birth of Harmony.

Bound in thy briny bed and gnawing earth

With foamy writhing and fierce-panted tides,

Thou art as Fate in torment of a dearth

Of black disaster and destruction's strides.

And how thou dost drive silence from the world,

Incarnate Motion of all mystery!

Whose waves are fury-wings, whose winds are hurled

[Pg 24]

Whither thy Ghost tempestuous can see

A desolate apocalypse of death.

Oh, how thou dost drive silence from the world,

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