The Mother’s Tragedy

( 98) THE GROWTH OF GOD (AS DEVELOPED ON A MOONLESS NIGHT IN THE TROPICS) VEN as beasts, where the sepulchral ocean Sobs, and their fins and feet keep Runic pace, Treading in water mysteries of motion, Witch-dances: where the ghastly carapace Of the blind sky hangs on the monstrous verge: Even as serpents, wallowing in the slime; So my thoughts raise misshapen heads, and urge Horrible visions of decaying Time. For in the fiery dusk arise distorted Grey shapes in moonless phosphorus glow of death; The keen light of the eyes thrust back and thwarted, The quick scent stabbed by the miasma breath. The day is over, when the lizard darted, A flash of green, the emerald outclassed; Night is collapsed upon the vale: departed All but the Close, suggestive of the Vast. The heavy tropic scent-inspiring gloom Clothes the wide air, the circumambient ether.