It
was in the pale garden of Zais;
The
mist-shrouded gardens of Zais,
Where
blossoms the white naphalot,
The
redolent herald of midnight.
There
slumber the still lakes of crystal,
And
streamlets that flow without murm'ring;
Smooth
streamlets from caverns of Kathos
Where
broodth the calm spirits of twilight.
And
over the lakes and the streamlets
Are
bridges of pure alabaster,
White
bridges all cunningly carven
With
figures of fairies and daemons.
Here
glimmer strange suns and strange planets,
And
strange is the crescent Bnapis
That
sets 'yong the ivy-grown ramparts
Where
thicken the dusk of the evening.
Here
fall the white vapours of Yabon;
And
here in the swirl of vapours
I saw
the divine Nathicana;
The
garlanded, white Nathicana;
The
slow-eyed, red-lipped Nathicana;
The
silver-voiced, sweet Nathicana;
The
plae-rob'd, belov'd Nathicana.
And
ever was she my beloved,
From
ages when time was unfashioned
Now
anything fashion'd but Yabon.
And
here dwelt we ever and ever,
The
innocent children of Zais,
At
peace in the paths and the arbours,
White-crowned
with the blest nephalote.
How
oft would we float in the twilight
O'er
flow'r-cover'd pastures and hillsides
All
white with the lowly astalthon;
The
lowly yet lovely astalthon,
And
dream in a world made of dreaming
The
dreams that are fairer than Aidenn;
Bright
dreams that are truer than reason!
So
dreamed and so lov'd we thro' ages,
Till
came the cursed season of Dzannin;
The
daemon-damn'd season of Dzannin;
When
red shone the suns and the planets,
And
red leamed the crescent Banapis,
And
red fell the vapours of Yabon.
Then
redden'd the blossoms and streamlets
And
lakes that lay under the bridges,
And
even the calm alabaster
glowed
pink with uncanny reflections
Till
all the carv'd fairies and daemons
Leer'd
redly from the backgrounds of shadow.
Now
redden'd my vision, and madly
I strove
to peer thro' the dense curtain
And
glimpsed the divine Nathicana;
The
pure, ever-pale Nathicana;
The
lov'd, the unchang'd Nathicana.
But
vortex on vortex of madness
Beclouded
my labouring vision;
My
damnable, reddening vision
That
built a new world for my seeing;
Anew
world of redness and darkness,
A horrible
coma call'd living
So
now in this come call'd living
I view
the bright phantons of beauty;
The
false hollow phantoms of beauty
That
cloak all the evils of Dzannin.
I view
them with infinite longing,
So
like do they seem to my lov'd one:
Yet
foul for their eyes shines their evil;
Their
cruel and pitilessevil,
More
evil than Thaphron and Latgoz,
Twice
ill fro its gorgeous concealment.
And
only in slumbers of midnight
Appears
the lost maid Nathicana,
The
pallid, the pure Nathicana
Who
fades at the glance of the dreamer.
Again
and again do I seek her;
I woo
with deep draughts of Plathotis,
Deep
draughts brew'd in wine of Astarte
And
strengthen'd with tears of long weeping.
I yearn
for the gardens of Zais;
The
lovely, lost garden of Zais
Where
blossoms the white nephalot,
The
redolent herald of midnight.
The
last potent draught am I brewing;
A draught
that the daemons delight ih;
A drught
that will banish the redness;
The
horrible coma call'd living.
Soon,
soon, if I fail not in brewing,
The
redness and madness will vanish,
And
deep in the worm-people'd darkness
Will
rot the base chains that hav bound me.
Once
more shall the gardens of Zais
Dawn
white on my long-tortur'd vision,
Andthere
midst the vapours of Yabon
Will
stand the divine Nathicana;
The
deathless, restor'd Nathicana
whose
like is not met with in living.
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