The House on the Borderland

by William Hope Hodgson

I read, and, in reading, lifted the Curtains of the Impossible that blind the mind, and looked out into the unknown.

'What does it mean?' 'What does it mean?' and I was unable to make answer, even out of the depths of my imagination. I seemed capable only of wonder and fear.

This idea of some intangible force being exerted, may seem reasonless. Yet, my instinct warns me, that it is not so. In these things, reason seems to me less to be trusted than instinct.

It was as though time had been annihilated for me; so that a year was no more to my unfleshed spirit, than is a moment to an earth-bound soul.

Through the whole void of night I search, So dumbly crying out to thee; But thou are not; and night's vast throne Becomes an all stupendous church With star-bells knelling unto me Who in all space am most alone! An hungered, to the shore I creep, Perchance some comfort waits on me From the old Sea's eternal heart; But lo! from all the solemn deep, Far voices out of mystery Seem questioning why we are apart! "Where'er I go I am alone Who once, through thee, had all the world. My breast is one whole raging pain For that which was, and now is flown Into the Blank where life is hurled Where all is not, nor is again!"