The Moon Is But A Golden Skull, She Mounts The Heavens Now, And Moon-Worms, Mighty Moon-Worms Are Wreathed Around Her Brow. The Moon-Worms Are A Doughty Race: They Eat Her Gray And Golden Face. Her Eye-Sockets Dead, And Molding Head: These Caverns Are Their Dwelling-Place. The Moon-Worms, Serpents Of The Skies, From The Great Hollows Of Her Eyes Behold All Souls, And They Are Wise: With Tiny, Keen And Icy Eyes, Behold How Each Man Sins And Dies. When Earth In Gold-Corruption Lies Long Dead, The Moon-Worm Butterflies On Cyclone Wings Will Reach This Place - Yea, Rear Their Brood On Earth'S Dead Face.