A NIGHTMARE

LEAGUES before me, leagues behind,

Clamor warring wastes of flood,

All the streams of all the worlds

Flung together, mad of mood;

Through the canon beats a sound,

Regular of interval,

Distant, drumming, muffled, dull,

Thunderously rhythmical;

Crafts slip by my startled soul —

Soul that cowers, a thing apart —

They are corpuscles of blood!

That's the throbbing of a heart!

God of terrors!— am I mad?—

Through my body, mine own soul,

Shrunken to an atom's size,

Voyages toward an unguessed goal!