Like melted candles ’round a dead man’s head
Weeping willow-trees stand round the sun-bleached stone;
Here doth the cackling hag make her throne,
And the great dragon shows his scaly head.
And, where the ring of poppies flame to red,
In the still chamber of the black pyramid
Awaits the Old-World Sphinx lurking darkly hid,
Grim warder of the treasures of the dead.
Laid long ago to rest within the womb
Of Tamarin, great guardian of Io’s sleep,
Lies the lost world key to secrets entombed.
In the shadow caverns of the fell deep,
Where even shadows daren’t enter the gloom
And the gods of Tamarin their promise keep.
