The King in Yellow

Hush now, then—sit down and listen;

  Tonight the maidens shout and sing!

From higher spheres, in reddened glisten

  Where claret stains reveal the King.

Clad in xanthous rags a-flutter,

  Jesters prancing, come and go, 

As they have naught but lines to utter

  In scenes that shift from vrai to faux.

Avert your gaze? O, you may not,

  That play you've seen—shall ever see,

In dreams, will linger, unforgot

  From written pangs that sing to thee.

And veiled in phantom masquerade,

  The prying crowds exulting,

And much of sin and fear displayed 

   In scores with acts 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! The vermin claw,

  The throng remains bemused,

And jesters praise its hideous jaw

  With sulfur breath infused.