THE GROWTH OF GOD 99
The earth grins open, as it were a tomb,
And struggling earthquakes gnash their teeth be-
neath her.
The night is monstrous: in the flickering fire
Strange faces gibber as the brands burn low;
Old shapes of hate, young phantoms of desire
More hateful yet, shatter and change and grow.
There is a sense of terror in the air,
And dreadful stories catch my breath and bind me,
Soft noises as of breathing: unaware
What devils or what ghosts may lurk behind me!
Even my horse is troubled: vain it is
Invoking memory for sweet sound of youth ;
The song, the day, the cup, the shot, the kiss!
This night begets illusion—ay! the truth.
I know the deep emotion of that birth,
When chaos rolled in terror and in thunder;
The abortion of the infancy of earth;
The monsters moving in a world of wonder ;
The Shapeless, racked with agony, that grew
Into these phantom forms that change and shatter ;
The falling of the first toad-spotted dew;
The first lewd heaving ecstasy of matter.
‘I see all Nature claw and tear and bite,
All hateful love and hideous: and the brood
Misshapen, misbegotten out of spite;
Lust after death; love in decrepitude. .