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The seventh day they gained at last the shore,

The shore that lies far other side the sea,

The seventh day, I say, since firstly bore

A wave offences from humanity.

They drew the ship aground on a land sore

That lifeless lay as far as eye could see,

If not for few contorted trees that grew

In mists which smelt like bones and wet mildew.

Hanged to the branches, swinging in the air

Slowly, like thuribles of incense dead,

One thousand sacks of cloth of human hair

A skeleton wrapped up in their grim thread.

In awe the three begun there to wayfare

Among the fruits of such still garden sad.

Where cadavers curled up within their tomb

Like fetuses inside a sterile womb.

Few mossy stones were scattered all around,

In strange signs carved, unknown to the human host,

Surfacing here and there in the wet ground.

Decay and death had set their reign utmost

Upon that somber land where not a sound

Was heard besides the breathing of the coast.

The air was thick and seemed to suck their breath,

As the Three trode upon the land of death.