These layers of gleaming horror—stark horror!
Ah me! Through my thin hands they touch my eyes.
Everywhere, everywhere is a pregnant birth,
And here in death’s land is a pregnant birth.
Your own crying is less mortal
Than the amazing soul in your body.
Your own crying yon parrot takes up
And from your empty skull cries it afterwards.
Thou whose dark activities unenchanted
Days from gyrating days, suspending them