Out from the tangled elements. So I turned
Whither the Shape let fall Its jaw to weave
Its chill articulation passionlessly.
Ill-eeriely fell Its speech, as tho’ It spurned
Life’s various intonation, to answer me
What in high mien I sought.
“Mortal, not mine
Scripts to declare; neither attorneys high
To sate thy heart wherewith. My voice proceeds
Swift to thy nobler self. Didst thou apply