was in the pale garden of Zais;
mist-shrouded gardens of Zais,
blossoms the white naphalot,
redolent herald of midnight.
slumber the still lakes of crystal,
streamlets that flow without murm'ring;
streamlets from caverns of Kathos
broodth the calm spirits of twilight.
over the lakes and the streamlets
bridges of pure alabaster,
bridges all cunningly carven
figures of fairies and daemons.
glimmer strange suns and strange planets,
strange is the crescent Bnapis
sets 'yong the ivy-grown ramparts
thicken the dusk of the evening.
fall the white vapours of Yabon;
here in the swirl of vapours
the divine Nathicana;
garlanded, white Nathicana;
slow-eyed, red-lipped Nathicana;
silver-voiced, sweet Nathicana;
plae-rob'd, belov'd Nathicana.
ever was she my beloved,
ages when time was unfashioned
anything fashion'd but Yabon.
here dwelt we ever and ever,
innocent children of Zais,
peace in the paths and the arbours,
with the blest nephalote.
oft would we float in the twilight
flow'r-cover'd pastures and hillsides
white with the lowly astalthon;
lowly yet lovely astalthon,
dream in a world made of dreaming
dreams that are fairer than Aidenn;
dreams that are truer than reason!
dreamed and so lov'd we thro' ages,
came the cursed season of Dzannin;
daemon-damn'd season of Dzannin;
red shone the suns and the planets,
red leamed the crescent Banapis,
red fell the vapours of Yabon.
redden'd the blossoms and streamlets
lakes that lay under the bridges,
even the calm alabaster
pink with uncanny reflections
all the carv'd fairies and daemons
redly from the backgrounds of shadow.
redden'd my vision, and madly
to peer thro' the dense curtain
glimpsed the divine Nathicana;
pure, ever-pale Nathicana;
lov'd, the unchang'd Nathicana.
vortex on vortex of madness
my labouring vision;
damnable, reddening vision
built a new world for my seeing;
world of redness and darkness,
coma call'd living
now in this come call'd living
the bright phantons of beauty;
false hollow phantoms of beauty
cloak all the evils of Dzannin.
them with infinite longing,
like do they seem to my lov'd one:
foul for their eyes shines their evil;
cruel and pitilessevil,
evil than Thaphron and Latgoz,
ill fro its gorgeous concealment.
only in slumbers of midnight
the lost maid Nathicana,
pallid, the pure Nathicana
fades at the glance of the dreamer.
and again do I seek her;
with deep draughts of Plathotis,
draughts brew'd in wine of Astarte
strengthen'd with tears of long weeping.
for the gardens of Zais;
lovely, lost garden of Zais
blossoms the white nephalot,
redolent herald of midnight.
last potent draught am I brewing;
that the daemons delight ih;
that will banish the redness;
horrible coma call'd living.
soon, if I fail not in brewing,
redness and madness will vanish,
deep in the worm-people'd darkness
rot the base chains that hav bound me.
more shall the gardens of Zais
white on my long-tortur'd vision,
midst the vapours of Yabon
stand the divine Nathicana;
deathless, restor'd Nathicana
like is not met with in living.