Inert in his chair, In a candle's guttering glow; His bottle empty, His fire sunk low; With drug-sealed lids shut fast, Unsated mouth ajar, This darkened phantasm walks Where nightmares are: In a frenzy of life and light, Crisscross -- a menacing throng -- They gibe, they squeal at the stranger, Jostling along, Their faces cadaverous grey: While on high from an attic stare Horrors, in beauty apparelled, Down the dark air. A stream gurgles over its stones, The chambers within are a-fire. Stumble his shadowy feet Through shine, through mire; And the flames leap higher. In vain yelps the wainscot mouse; In vain beats the hour; Vacant, his body must drowse Until daybreak flower -- Staining these walls with its rose, And the draughts of the morning shall stir Cold on cold brow, cold hands. And the wanderer Back to flesh house must return. Lone soul -- in horror to see, Than dream more meagre and awful, Reality. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MYSTERY OF PAIN by EMILY DICKINSON THE OLD MEN ADMIRING THEMSELVES IN THE WATER by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE TRIUMPH OF MELANCHOLY by JAMES BEATTIE FOR A CERTAIN BELOVED GENTLEMAN by MARGARET E. BRUNER AND MAUN I STILL ON MENIE DOAT by ROBERT BURNS STANDING ON TIPTOE by GEORGE FREDERICK CAMERON |