( 98)
THE GROWTH OF GOD
(AS DEVELOPED ON A MOONLESS NIGHT IN
THE TROPICS)
VEN as beasts, where the sepulchral ocean
Sobs, and their fins and feet keep Runic pace,
Treading in water mysteries of motion,
Witch-dances: where the ghastly carapace
Of the blind sky hangs on the monstrous verge:
Even as serpents, wallowing in the slime;
So my thoughts raise misshapen heads, and urge
Horrible visions of decaying Time.
For in the fiery dusk arise distorted
Grey shapes in moonless phosphorus glow of
death;
The keen light of the eyes thrust back and thwarted,
The quick scent stabbed by the miasma breath.
The day is over, when the lizard darted,
A flash of green, the emerald outclassed;
Night is collapsed upon the vale: departed
All but the Close, suggestive of the Vast.
The heavy tropic scent-inspiring gloom
Clothes the wide air, the circumambient ether.