If Under fell, if Over leaped,
If death was life and Death life reaped,
Something rises from the gloom,
To make the Underland a tomb
Hear it scratching down below,
Rat of long forgotten snow,
Evil cloaked in coat of White,
Will the Warrior drain your light?
What could turn the Warrior week?
What do burning Gnawers seek?
Just a barely speaking pup
That holds the Land of Under up
Die the baby, die his heart
Die his most essential part
Die the peace that rules the hour,
Gnawers have their key to power
About author
- Author's profession: Novelist, Writer
- Nationality: american
- Born: August 11, 1962
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Let him who reads forgive the intrusion of a dream into a history of fact. But it came so home to me—I saw it all so clear in a moment, as it were; and, besides, who shall say what proportion of fact, past, present, or to come, may lie in the imagination? What is imagination? Perhaps it is the shadow of the intangible truth, perhaps it is the soul's thought.
H. Rider Haggard
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