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XXII. AZATHOTH
Out in the mindless void the daemon bore me,Past the bright clusters of dimensioned space,Till neither time nor matter stretched before me,But only Chaos, without form or place.Here the vast Lord of All in darkness mutteredThings he had dreamed but could not understand,While near him shapeless bat-things flopped and flutteredIn idiot vortices that ray-streams fanned.
They danced insanely to the high thin whiningOf a cracked flute clutched in a monstrous paw,Whence flow the aimless waves whose chance combiningGives each frail cosmos its eternal law."I am His Messenger," the daemon said,As in contempt he struck his Master's head.
XXIII. MIRAGE
I do not know if ever it existed—That lost world floating dimly on Time's stream—And yet I see it often, violet-misted,And shimmering at the back of some vague dream.There were strange towers and curious lapping rivers,Labyrinths of wonder, and low vaults of light,And bough-crossed skies of flame, like that which quiversWistfully just before a winter's night.
Great moors led off to sedgy shores unpeopled,Where vast birds wheeled, while on a windswept hillThere was a village, ancient and white-steepled,With evening chimes for which I listen still.I do not know what land it is—or dareAsk when or why I was, or will be there.
XXIV. THE CANAL
Somewhere in dream there is an evil placeWhere tall, deserted buildings crowd alongA deep, black, narrow channel; reeking strongOf frightful things where oily currents race.Lanes with old walls half-meeting overheadWind off to streets one may or may not know,And feeble moonlight sheds a spectral glowOver long rows of windows, dark and dead.
There are no footfalls, and the one soft soundIs of the oily water as it glidesUnder stone bridges, and along the sidesOf its deep flume, to some vague ocean bound.None lives to tell when that stream washed awayIts dream-lost region from the world of day.
