by Eugene Lee-Hamilton
I love to watch them, trickling on the floor,
Like Evil's very oozings running free;
Now livid blue, now green as green can be,
Now almost white, though black an hour before.
Their undulation, trammelled by no shore,
Might be a ripple upon Horror's sea,
The live meander moves so soundlessly,
Inscrutable as Magic's very core.
What if I painted a Medusa's head,
Fresh severed, lying on its back, with brow
Convulsed in death, and wan as moonlit lead;
And made the snakes, still writhing in a slow
Death struggle round the temples that are dead,
Striving to quit them in a ceaseless flow?
Last updated January 14, 2019