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. . .