The steeples are white in the wild moonlight,
And the trees have a silver glare;
Past the chimneys high see the vampires fly,
And the harpies of upper air,
That flutter and laugh and stare.
For the village dead to the moon outspread
Never shone in the sunset’s gleam,
But grew out of the deep that the dead years keep
Where the rivers of madness stream
Down the gulfs to a pit of dream.
A chill wind weaves thro’ the rows of sheaves
In the meadows that shimmer pale,
And comes to twine where the headstones shine
And the ghouls of the churchyard wail
For harvests that fly and fail.
Not a breath of the strange grey gods of change
That tore from the past its own
Can quicken this hour, when a spectral pow’r
Spreads sleep o’er the cosmic throne
And looses the vast unknown.
So here again stretch the vale and plain
That moons long-forgotten saw,
And the dead leap gay in the pallid ray,
Sprung out of the tomb’s black maw
To shake all the world with awe.
And all that the morn shall greet forlorn,
The ugliness and the pest
Of rows where thick rise the stones & brick,
Shall some day be with the rest,
And brood with the shades unblest.
Then wild in the dark let the lemurs bark,
And the leprous spires ascend;
For new and old alike in the fold
Of horror and death are penn’d,
For the hounds of Time to rend.
Always loved that poem….had it up in Lovecraft Eternal recently. Hope you had a splendid Halloween Mike…..may post a photo later.
Happy Halloween! Great poem! I’d never read it. Lovely!
By the way, Lovecraft had the courage to describe the real Halloween, but from a different date – read his story, “Holiday”, and you will understand what I mean ))
Deja vu. Just read this last night in Horror for the Holidays.
We’re much more boring– just handing out eyeballs to all who come near.
Definitely one of HPL’s best poems — can’t see it too often. Thanks for posting it today! I won’t be in costume tonight, but I’ll be at our local branch library putting forbidden texts in the hands of the unwary . . . no one ever suspects a volunteer.