In the valley of Nis the accursed waning moon shines
 thinly, tearing a path for its light
with feeble horns through the lethal foliage
of a great upas-tree.
And within the depths of the valley, where
the light reaches not, move forms not meet
to be beheld.
Rank is the herbage on each slope, where evil vines 
and creeping plants crawl amidst the
stones of ruined palaces, twining tightly
about broken columns and strange monoliths,
and heaving up marble pavements 
laid by forgotten hands.
And in trees that grow gigantic in crumbling
 courtyards leap little apes,
while in and out of deep treasure-vaults writhe poison
serpents and scaly things without a name.
Vast are the stones which sleep beneath coverlets of
dank moss, and mighty were the walls
from which they fell.
For all time did their builders erect them, and in sooth
they yet serve nobly, for beneath them
the grey toad makes his habitation.
At the very bottom of the valley lies the
river Than, whose waters are slimy
and filled with weeds.
From hidden springs it rises, and to subterranean
grottoes it flows, so that the Daemon of the Valley
knows not why its waters are red, nor
whither they are bound.
The Genie that haunts the moonbeams spake
to the Daemon of the Valley, saying,
“I am old, and forget much."
"Tell me the deeds and aspect and name of them
who built these things of stone.”
And the Daemon replied, “I am Memory,
and am wise in lore of the past, but I too am old."
"These beings were like the waters
of the river Than, not to be understood."
"Their deeds I recall not, for they were but
of the moment."
"Their aspect I recall dimly, for it was like
to that of the little apes in the trees."
"Their name I recall clearly, for it rhymed
with that of the river."
"These beings of yesterday were called Man.”
So the Genie flew back to the thin horned
moon, and the Daemon looked intently
at a little ape in a tree 
that grew in a crumbling courtyard.
