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She looked at me again with an expression almost like pity.

"Ah," she said, "to come is easy and takes hours; to go is different‐and may take centuries."

Robert W. Chambers, The Demoiselle d'Ys

Heroine

A filthy place, an open tomb,
A rotten stench: inverted womb.
Drunk upon the thick odeur of death
I can't recall how here, I came
Don't understand if I'm to blame;
I had no chance to catch my breath.

Pale glow through the phosph'rent screen
Shallow shapes, a forest green;
Enslaved, or interested? Both?
Square shaped mirror, inward gaze,
Paths of dream: a misty maze;
Himself, an object which to loathe.

Struggling tree, steps of silence
By the heroine's gates
Daily nights by the nightly daylight
Condemned by the fates

I saw you through the interlace
A dream in which I saw your face
And of the mist, some left my frame.
But not for long, I couldn't know
How to leave and where to go—
A change, yet all remained the same.

Struggling tree, steps of silence
By the heroine's gates
Daily nights by the nightly daylight
Condemned by the fates

It colours me: I turn to pale,
Deadly silent, roaring gale—
For want of will and courage lost.
Remember I, what see I did?
The broken joy, from which I hid?
Heroine, the one, that reach I must?

Struggling tree, steps of silence
By the heroine's gates
Daily nights by the nightly daylight
Condemned by the fates

Crumbling tree, roaring silence
I bid thee, heroine, wait!
Daily nights by that blazing twilight.
Blind challenge of fate.

Within the Mists of the Sea/The Cloud >


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