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Phantagraph, v. 4, issue 2, November-December 1935
7
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THE DWELLER H. P. Lovecraft It has been old when Babylon was new; None knows how long it slept beneath that mound, Where in the end our questing shovels found Its granite blocks and brought it back to view. There were vast pavements and foundation-walls, And crumbling slabs and statues, carved to show Fantastic beings of some long ago Past anything the world of man recalls. And then we saw those stone steps leading down Through a choked gate of graven dolomite To some black haven of eternal night Where elder signs and primal secrets frown. We cleared a path - - - - but raced in mad retreat When from below we heard those clumping feet.
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THE DWELLER H. P. Lovecraft It has been old when Babylon was new; None knows how long it slept beneath that mound, Where in the end our questing shovels found Its granite blocks and brought it back to view. There were vast pavements and foundation-walls, And crumbling slabs and statues, carved to show Fantastic beings of some long ago Past anything the world of man recalls. And then we saw those stone steps leading down Through a choked gate of graven dolomite To some black haven of eternal night Where elder signs and primal secrets frown. We cleared a path - - - - but raced in mad retreat When from below we heard those clumping feet.
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