Shun the ruined rocks by the limpid dark lake
As gods fear the Styx and do not drink of its hate
Heed not the mad piping that rise from in there
Such music as flute notes on winds not of air
In ratios irrational and colours obscene
Cello strings pulse forth notes which echo too keen
In temples and houses long crusted with salt
Dead sleepers awaiting the red stars to un-halt
Strange eons are in strange dreams passed over quite soon
Though numberless the cycles of malign gibbous moon
In ratios irrational and colours obscene
Convex cavities on tilting pillars seem to lean
When queer paeans and dark hymns from mephitic marshes rise up
When black winds at long last blow the red stars unstuck
Then between ratios irrational and behind colours obscene
Come the High King in Yellow and the High Priest in Green.
