Thel steps through the northern gate into a land of death, where the dead rest and the fibrous roots of every heart twist deep into the soil. She wanders among clouds and dark valleys, listening to grief and lamentation, until she finds herself sitting beside her own grave. Out of the hollow pit comes a voice thick with sorrow, asking a cascade of anguished questions. Why can’t the ear close itself to its own destruction? Why are eyelids strung with arrows, ready for a poison smile? Why is the tongue coated with honey from every wind, the ear a whirlpool sucking in creations, the nostril flared to inhale terror? Even desire is a betrayed promise, a “little curtain of flesh” over a hidden trap. Each question mourns how the body’s very senses seem designed to ensnare us in suffering. Thel cannot bear it—she shrieks and flees back to the sheltered vales of Har, rejecting the unbearable knowledge that to be alive is to be exposed to sorrow from every side. The mood is claustrophobic and dread-filled, a bitter lament from the grave that leaves no room for comfort.
The Book of Thel. Part IV — Summary
The eternal gates terrific porter lifted the northern bar: Thel enter'd in & saw the secrets of the land unknown; She saw the couches of the dead, & where the fibrous roots Of every heart on earth infixes deep its restless twists: A land of sorrows & of tears where never smile was seen.
She wandered in the land of clouds thro' valleys dark, listning Dolors & lamentations: waiting oft beside the dewy grave She stood in silence, listning to the voices of the ground, Till to her own grave plot she came, & there she sat down. And heard this voice of sorrow breathed from the hollow pit.
Why cannot the Ear be closed to its own destruction? Or the glistening Eye to the poison of a smile! Why are Eyelids stord with arrows ready drawn, Where a thousand fighting men in ambush lie! Or an Eye of gifts & graces showring fruits & coined gold!
Why a Tongue impress'd with honey from every wind? Why an Ear, a whirlpool fierce to draw creations in? Why a Nostril wide inhaling terror trembling & affright Why a tender curb upon the youthful burning boy? Why a little curtain of flesh on the bed of our desire?
The Virgin started from her seat, & with a shriek, Fled back unhinderd till she came into the vales of Har.