 | Mundi et Cordis |  |
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XV. THE HELL-MIST.
We walk in hell! for, reeking from the river,Dense vapours roll upon the atmosphere,
Making a murky horror in the air;
Till, gall'd in sense and sight, all life doth quiver,
And many a gasping heart groans forth a prayer
For death, before such life. Enchantress dear!
Whose wand is beauty, on the lustre clear
Of thy sweet eyes I fix a constant gaze,
Lest in the infernal and condensing maze
I lose all memory of light, and rave;
For darkness wraps the earth as in a grave,
Where they alone are radiant. Near! more near!
Let me not lose the Elysium of one beam;
A real thing in this infernal dream!
| Mundi et Cordis | |