I find myself by a black spring and cold,
Which slowly bursts from this rock's heavy head,
Like drops of sweat wrung from our God of old,
And plashes dead
Into a basin hollowed from the mould.

I trace this fountain rolling deeply down —
Dark is the night, my pathway ruinous —
Here foam the muddy billows thick and brown,
Then issue thus
Into a lake where all the world might drown.

I mark the mountains stand about and brood —
The lake and they together, God, remain,
As black and deep and steep as walls of mud
On some vast plain
Block out and brood upon a swimming drain.

I mark a woman on the farther shore
Walk ghost-like; her I shriek to with my might;
Ghostlike she walketh ever more and more;
Her face how white!
How small between us seems the Infinite!

I call her, but she ever tacks and veers
Like some wan sail that sails in the salt seas
Unheeding all the shore's strained eyes and cars;
Must this not cease?
Ah! hear my cry, dear soul, and give me peace.

I call her; never may she heed or note:
Is this the end? Just Judge, this place is cursed!
Each breath I draw within my beating throat
Doth make and burst
Bubbles of blood Death, death! Death last and first.