One night I wander’d down the bank

Of a deep valley, hush’d and dank,

Whose stagnant air possess’d a taint

And chill that made me sick and faint.

The frequent trees on ev’ry hand

Loom’d like a ghastly goblin band,

And branches ‘gainst the narrowing sky

Took shapes I fear’d – I knew not why.

Deeper I plung’d, and seem’d to grope

For some lost thing as joy or hope,

Yet found, for all my searchings there,

Naught save the phantoms of despair.

The walls contracted as I went

Still farther in my mad descent,

Till soon, of moon and stars bereft,

I crouch’d within a rocky cleft

So deep and ancient that the stone

Breath’d things primordial and unknown.

My hands, exploring, strove to trace

The features of the valley’s face,

When midst the gloom they seem’d to find

An outline frightful to my mind.

Not any shape my straining eyes,

Could they have seen, might recognise;

For what I touch’d bespoke a day

Too old for man’s fugacious sway.

The clinging lichens moist and hoary

Forbade me read the antique story;

But hidden water, trickling low,

Whisper’d the tales I should not know.

“Mortal, ephemeral and bold,

In mercy keep what I have told,

Yet think sometimes of what hath been,

And sights these crumbling rocks have seen;

Of sentience old ere thy weak brood

Appear’d in lesser magnitude,

And living things that yet survive,

Tho’ not to human ken alive.

I AM THE VOICE OF MOTHER EARTH,

FROM WHENCE ALL HORRORS HAVE THEIR BIRTH.”