Like far-off neighing of the nightmare's foal.
But let me fix my phantom-shadowed eyes
Hard on the stars—pale points of silver light—
Here is the borderland-here reason lies—
There, visions, gryphons, Nothing, and the Night.
Down, down, red specters, down, and rack me not!
Out, wolves of hell! Oh God, my pulses thrum;
The night grows fierce and blind and red and hot,
And nearer still a grim insistent drum.
I will not look into the shadows—No!