The Mind of Man II

Upon the borders of the weald(I walk there first when I step in)Set in green wood and smiling field,The city stands, unstained of sin;White thoughts and wishes pureWalk the streets with steps demure.

In its clean groves and spacious hallsThe quiet-eyed inhabitantsHold innocent sunny festivalsAnd mingle in decorous dance;Things that destroy, distort, deface,Come never to that lovely place.

Never could evil enter thither,It could not live in that sweet air,The shadow of an ill deed must witherAnd fall away to nothing there.You would say as there you standThat all was beauty in the land.

But go you out beyond the gateway,Cleave you the woods and pass the plain,Cross you the frontier down, and straightwayThe trees will end, the grass will wane,And you will come to a wildernessOf sticks and parched barrenness.

The middle of the land is this,A tawny desert midmost set,Barren of living things it is,Saving at night some vampires flitThat nest them in the farther marishWhere all save vilest things must perish.

Here in this reedy marsh of greenAnd oily pools, swarm insects fatAnd birds of prey and beasts obscene,Things that the traveller shudders at,All cunning things that creep and flyTo suck men's blood until they die.

Rarely from hence does aught escapeInto the world of outer light,But now and then some sable shapeOutward will dash in sudden flight;And men stand stonied or distraughtTo know the loathly deed or thought.

But, ah! beyond the marsh you reachA purulent place more vile than all,A festering lake too foul for speech,Rotten and black, with coils acrawl,Where writhe with lecherous squeakings shrillHorrors that make the heart stand still.

There, 'neath a heaven diseased, it lies,The mere alive with slimy worms,With perverse terrible infamies,And murders and repulsive formsThat have no name, but slide here deep,Whilst I, their holder, silence keep.