And blood-chilling fingers brush my forehead, like snow;
A hurricane rose, and a wild whistling wind
Swept up from beneath, and in it entwined
Were the shadowy Marids with luminous eyes,
And a stench like to woodlands where the undergrowth dies
Assailed the dank ether; whilst thousands of flies,
The minions of Iblees sped whirling around;
And flesh semi-fermented smoked on the ground.
Then in the midst of this utter distress
I breathed forth the NAME of my azure Princess.