BDC

Up from the nether world in unending procession, Like the lurid mists at the dawn-time, Like the black wraiths that […]

There he lies, his pale face fitfully waving a truce to Old Care, Life flowing out from a million invisible rents

My soul is a tarn as black and motionless as the night above in which whirl forever and ever the

Framed in ebon memories her picture hangs there upon the walls of my brain. ’Tis not the face I put

Ever-changing, ever-vanishing, an evocation from out the Mist, tottering forever to a doom that is never pronounced, I am the

I am the Watcher, and me nothing eludes. I live behind the mask of things, My breath is world-wither, and

I am an eavesdropper, a peeper, a cosmic footpad; With my ear at the keyhole of Eternity I report what

When a boy I was wrenched in a gin hidden in a garden of roses: thus am I lame. Later

I travel toward a Shrine that is set in a mist—long have I been on the way. I hear dull