Where no foot of man has fared,
To a Gas-log grove primeval,
Where I find me, mute, and scared
Of—I know not—Goblins, Banshees,
And the ancient Gas-trees toss
Gnarled and flickering giant branches,
Hoary with asbestos moss.
Now I come to where are waving
Painted palms, precisely planned,
Rearing trunks of cocoa shaving,