The Nameless City

That is not dead which can eternal lie,And with strange eons, even death may die.

A reservoir of darkness, blackAs witches' cauldrons are, when fill'dWith moon-drugs in th' eclipse distill'd.Leaning to look if foot might passDown thro' that chasm, I saw, beneath,As far as vision could explore,The jetty sides as smooth as glass,Looking as if just varnish'd o'erWith that dark pitch the Sea of DeathThrows out upon its slimy shore.

That is not dead which can eternal lie,And with strange eons, even death may die.