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Normale Version: THE SHELL
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THE SHELL

THE world is but a hollow breathing shell
By some chance wave cast on these shores of time,
Still keeping in its ever-haunting chime
The tameless voice of chaos' ancient spell.

At whiles in its dark concave thunders swell.
Waking the echoes of creation's prime,
And solemn memories of that day sublime
When through void gulfs of space light did upwell.

Lo, evermore within the heavy ear
Of sleeping, sodden, crass mortality
It sobs its ceaseless warning, year by year,

That o'er it once again shall heave night's sea;
And whoso hearkens, hushed and tense, may hear
The awful whispers of eternity.