It was in the pale garden of Zais;
The mist-shrouded gardens of
Where blossoms the white naphalot,
The redolent herald of
There slumber the still lakes of crystal,
that flow without murm'ring;
Smooth streamlets from caverns of Kathos
Where broodth the calm spirits of twilight.
And over the lakes and
Are bridges of pure alabaster,
White bridges all
With figures of fairies and daemons.
strange suns and strange planets,
And strange is the crescent Bnapis
That sets 'yong the ivy-grown ramparts
Where thicken the dusk of
Here fall the white vapours of Yabon;
And here in the
swirl of vapours
I saw the divine Nathicana;
The garlanded, white
The slow-eyed, red-lipped Nathicana;
The pale-rob'd, belov'd Nathicana.
And ever was
she my beloved,
From ages when time was unfashioned
fashion'd but Yabon.
And here dwelt we ever and ever,
children of Zais,
At peace in the paths and the arbours,
White-crowned with the blest nephalote.
How oft would we float in
O'er flow'r-cover'd pastures and hillsides
with the lowly astalthon;
The lowly yet lovely astalthon,
dream in a world made of dreaming
The dreams that are fairer than
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
And red leamed the crescent Banapis,
And red fell the
vapours of Yabon.
Then redden'd the blossoms and streamlets
lakes that lay under the bridges,
And even the calm alabaster
glowed pink with uncanny reflections
Till all the carv'd fairies
Leer'd redly from the backgrounds of shadow.
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
Beclouded my labouring vision;
My damnable, reddening
That built a new world for my seeing;
Anew world of redness
A horrible coma call'd living
So now in this come
I view the bright phantons of beauty;
hollow phantoms of beauty
That cloak all the evils of Dzannin.
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
More evil than Thaphron and Latgoz,
Twice ill fro
its gorgeous concealment.
And only in slumbers of midnight
the lost maid Nathicana,
The pallid, the pure Nathicana
at the glance of the dreamer.
Again and again do I seek her;
with deep draughts of Plathotis,
Deep draughts brew'd in wine of
And strengthen'd with tears of long weeping.
I yearn for
the gardens of Zais;
The lovely, lost garden of Zais
blossoms the white nephalot,
The redolent herald of midnight.
last potent draught am I brewing;
A draught that the daemons delight
A drught that will banish the redness;
The horrible coma
Soon, soon, if I fail not in brewing,
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,
midst the vapours of Yabon
Will stand the divine Nathicana;
deathless, restor'd Nathicana
whose like is not met with in living.