Low arches of a charnel house, Above whose dome two demons sit, That guard the lamps of fateful red, Veiled whispers from a maiden's soul Cleave skyward until they arrouse A savage hound of hell with script That holds her body's deeds. A-bed, He peers thro' shades unto her shoal, Then at his tome where sins are wrote Of wifes that sold their names in lust, Or men that worshipped naught but gold. And, when stillness holds troubled sway, A baneful imp that Conscience smote, Rasps names of those bowed in the dust: And, when thus their sins are foretold, As kinsmen strike their beasts and pray, A livid gasp permeates the air, A curdling curse assails the night. And squats, whose scarlet venom crawls To lantern's-glow that tell the guilt Of battling demons as they swear, Malignly dumb below each light That scyle the bloody walls and halls, The life-ebb from a wench is spilt. The phosphorescent fungus-lights Are traitors' lamps that sorrows hide; The foam-sprayed beaches that we see, Are treasure-houses for the damn'd. From year to year infernal nights Rasp shoals a thousand furlongs wide; In ev'ry zone, each distant lee, Holds ghastly sights of burning sand. The headlands that we reach by day, About whose shore the dragons roam; And mildewed vaults of gatheréd bone, Where eyeless skulls and ape-shanks lie As moaning winds reel to and sway From gorey pools and tower'd dome, A goggling wraith and shambling gnome Doth forage for each fleeing sigh. Now Sorrow that the Dooms crown'd King, Flees from the mouth of pools inflame, Whilst Lords in robes of scarlet hue, Add to the damn'd, malignant show; Pellicles that all eyes did sting In Vengeance's law that none could tame, Flees whence two lights of dreaming blue Cleave dome-thrown shadows dress'd in woe.