Lewis Carroll

PHANTASMAGORIA AND OTHER POEMS
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The Third Voice

 Not long this transport held its place:
 Within a little moment’s space
 Quick tears were raining down his face
 
 His heart stood still, aghast with fear;
 A wordless voice, nor far nor near,
 He seemed to hear and not to hear.
 
 “Tears kindle not the doubtful spark.
 If so, why not?  Of this remark
 The bearings are profoundly dark.”
 
 “Her speech,” he said, “hath caused this pain.
 Easier I count it to explain
 The jargon of the howling main,
 
 “Or, stretched beside some babbling brook,
 To con, with inexpressive look,
 An unintelligible book.”
 
 Low spake the voice within his head,
 In words imagined more than said,
 Soundless as ghost’s intended tread:
 
 “If thou art duller than before,
 Why quittedst thou the voice of lore?
 Why not endure, expecting more?”
 
 “Rather than that,” he groaned aghast,
 “I’d writhe in depths of cavern vast,
 Some loathly vampire’s rich repast.”
 
 “‘Twere hard,” it answered, “themes immense
 To coop within the narrow fence
 That rings thy scant intelligence.”
 
 “Not so,” he urged, “nor once alone:
 But there was something in her tone
 That chilled me to the very bone.
 
 “Her style was anything but clear,
 And most unpleasantly severe;
 Her epithets were very queer.
 
 “And yet, so grand were her replies,
 I could not choose but deem her wise;
 I did not dare to criticise;
 
 “Nor did I leave her, till she went
 So deep in tangled argument
 That all my powers of thought were spent.”
 
 A little whisper inly slid,
 “Yet truth is truth: you know you did.”
 A little wink beneath the lid.
 
 And, sickened with excess of dread,
 Prone to the dust he bent his head,
 And lay like one three-quarters dead
 
 The whisper left him - like a (...)
(......)