“But see, amid the mimic rout, A crawling shape intrude!A blood-red thing that writhes from out The scenic solitude!It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs The mimes become its food,And seraphs sob at vermin fangs In human gore
“But see, amid the mimic rout, A crawling shape intrude!A blood-red thing that writhes from out The scenic solitude!It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs The mimes become its food,And seraphs sob at vermin fangs In human gore
“But see, amid the mimic rout, A crawling shape intrude!A blood-red thing that writhes from out The scenic solitude!It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs The mimes become its food,And seraphs sob at vermin fangs In human gore
