Mad Sonnet

Lo, in the night I cry out, in the night, God! and my voice shall howl into the sky! I am weary of seeing shapeless things that fly, And flap into my face in their vile flight;

I am weary of dead things that crowd into my sight, I am weary of hearing horrible corpses that cry, God! I am weary of that lidless Eye That comes and stares at me, O God of light!

All, all the world is become a dead blur, God! God! and I, stricken with hideous blight, Crouch in the black corners, and I dare not stir.

I am aweary of my evil plight. If thou art not a dead corpse in thy sky, Send thou down Death into my loathed sty!