A Fragment

The bottom-lands of Lethe and of Night:
Beyond the fiery troubling of the stars,
The peaceful heavens hold in plenitude
A gloom that lies like drift of purple down
On lids oblivious—having but for light
The glimmer as of some lost afterglow.
Which, irretrievable of any sun,
Seems evermore to falter and to grope
'Mid forms and shades elusive. Like a scene
To one entranced with dark mandragora,
And dimmer than mirages of the moon,
Lies all the drowsy land, lapsing away
With Lethe to the sleep of nadir plains. . .