DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Phantagraph, v. 6, issue 2, June 1937

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Phantagraph, v. 6, issue 2, June 1937

Page 3

Hallowe'en In A Suburb
By H. P. Lovecraft

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 waves through 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.

(OVER)

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Hallowe'en In A Suburb By H. P. Lovecraft 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 waves through 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. (OVER)