In death each damnéd minion
Of Set, the accursed lord of Hell.
Yea! in those globes of fire there sate
Some cruel knowledge closely curled
Like serpents in those halls of hate,
Palaces of the Underworld.
But in the hell-glow of those eyes
The ashen skull of Pharaoh shone
White as the moonrays that surprise
The invoking Druse on Lebanon.
Moreover pylon shouldered round
To pylon an unearthly tune,
Like phantom priests that strike and sound
Sinister sistrons at the moon.
And death’s insufferable perfume
Beat the black air with golden fans
As Turkis rip a Nubian’s womb
With damascenéd yataghans.
79