Hark!… what booming Faints on the high-strung ear? Through the damp woods (so dark No flowers are blooming) I hear, I hear The twang of harps, the leap Of hairy feet, and know the revel’s ripe, While, like a coral stripe, The lizard cool doth creep, Monster, but monarch there, up the pale Indian Pipe. Hush!… Your panting Will scare them from their game. Let not a footfall crush Their rites enchanting! The deadwood’s flame, Bellies of murdered fire-flies, And glimmering moonstones thick with treasured rays Shall help our round-eyed gaze Antics unholy to surprise, Which the ungodly crew round the red lizard plays. Now!… No breathing To spoil the heathenish dance! Lest from each pendent bough Poison be seething,— A hair-fine lance Pierce to our brain, and slowly slay. But look your breathless fill, and mark them swing, Man and maid a-capering, Ugly, fair, morosely gay, Round the red lizard smooth, crowned for their wicked king. Back!… Inhuman Are gestures, laughs, and jeers. Off, ere we lose the track! Nor man nor woman May stand your leers, Shameless and loose, uncovered creatures! Quick, lest we join their orgies in the dark! Back! For the madness stark Is crawling through our natures To touch the red lizard vile, spread on the damp white bark.
Arcana Sylvarum
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Hark!… what booming Faints on the high-strung ear? Through the damp woods (so dark No flowers are blooming) I hear, I hear The twang of harps, the leap Of hairy feet, and know the revel’s ripe, While, like a coral stripe, The lizard cool doth creep, Monster, but monarch there, up the pale Indian...