MY pathway seems the hem of very night, For nothing save a slender wooden fence Keeps me from utter space with blackness dense, A mouth of death, that never tasted light. Beyond the horrid gulf lies height on height— Darkness on darkness heaped; and every sense Responds to something dreadful and immense— The crouching figure of incarnate Might. Austere as fate and terrible as law The mountains stand and hide their breasts of snow Till longing winds of midnight fail and swoon. The spell increases—awful hands withdraw Each cloudy cloak—the veils are rent, and lo, The gleaming Titans naked neath the moon! |