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.