McDougal’s Deep

A letter A carved in the hill of limestone The oaken door creaks on its rusted hinge We leave the sun for the marrow of the bone Where the shadows of the maze begin to fringe No more the candle, no more the kite-string trail A labyrinth of aisles and a nameless lore Becky's apathy is a translucent veil Before the threshold of the brazen door Dr. McDowell gauges the gloom of the stone Preserving the dead in the ink-black damp A Palaeozoic abyss in the ancient zone Beyond the reach of the tallow lamp The logic of the maze is a ghoul-peopled blackness A manifest of silence that the stalactites keep Measure the mire of the earth's exactness Logging the secrets of the antediluvian deep Shut the door... The light is spent...