The King in Yellow

Hush now, then—sit down and listen;

  Tonight the Hyades shall sing

From higher spheres, in claret glisten

  Where flap the tatters of the King.

Clad in xanthous rags a-flutter,

  Jesters prancing, come and go, 

As they have naught but lines to utter

  Scene by scene from vrai to faux.

Avert your gaze? O, you may not,

  That play you've seen, and e’er shalt see

Be sure, it will not be forgot

  And thus thy mask thy self shall be.

And veiled in phantom masquerade,

  The prying crowds exulting,

And much of Sin and Fear displayed 

   In scores with mimes conducting.

But see amid that mise-en-scène,

  A shriveled hand protrude!

A thing that writhes from in between

  The thespian servitude!

It writhes!—it writhes! A vermin claw,

  The throng remains bemused,

And jesters praise its hideous jaw

  With sulfur breath infused.