I. THE BOOK
(first
pub. the Fantasy Fan, 2 No. 2 (October 1934), 24.)
The
place was dark and dusty and half-lost
In
tangles of old alleys near the quays,
Reeking
of strange thing brought in from the seas,
And
with queer curls of fog that west winds tossed,
Small
lozenge panes obscured by smoke and frost,
Just
showed the books, in piles like twisted trees,
Rotting
from floor to roof-congeries
Of
crumbling elder lore at little cost.
...
I entered,
charmed, and from a cobwebbed heap
Took
up the nearest tome and thumbed it through,
Trembling
at curious words that seemed to keep
Some
secret, monstrous if only one knew
Then,
looking for some seller old in craft,
I could
find nothing but a voice that laughed.
II.
Pursuit
(first
pub. The Fantasy Fan, 2, no. 2 (October 1934), 24.)
I held
the book beneath my coat, at pains
To
hide the thing from sight ins uch a place;
Hurrying
through the ancient harbour lanes
With
often-turning head and nervous oace.
Dull,
furtive windows in old tottering brick
Peered
at me oddly as I hastened by,
And
thinking what they sheltered, I grew sick
For
a redeeming glimpse of clear blue sky.
...
...
No
one had seen me take the thing-but still
A blank
laugh echoes in my whirling head,
And
I could guess what nighted worlds of ill
Lurked
in that volume I had coveted.
The
way grew strange-the walls alike and madding-
And
ar behind me, unseen feet were padding.
III.
The Key
(first
pub. The Fantasy Fan, 2, No. 5 (January 1935), 72.)
I do
not know what windings in the waste
Of
thos strange sea-lanes brought me home once more
But
on my porch I trembled, white with haste
To
get inside and bolt the heavy door
I had
the book that old the hidden way
Across
the void and through the space-hung screens
That
hold the undimensional worlds at bay
And
keep lost aeons to their own demesnes.
...
At last
the key was mine to those vague visions
Of
sunset spires and twilight woods that boord
Dim
in the gulfs beyond this earth's precisions
Lurking
as memories of infinitude
The
key was mine, but as I sat there mumbling
The
attic window shook with a faint fumbling.
IV.
Recognition
(first
pub. Driftwind, 11, No. 5 (December 1936), 180.)
The
day had come again, when as a child
I saw-just
once- that hollow of old oaks,
Grey
with a ground-mist that enfolds and chokes
The
slinking shapes which madness has defiled
In
that the same-an herbage rank and wild
Clings
round an altar whose carved signs involve
That
Nameless One to whom a thousand smokes
Rose,
aeons gone, from unclean towers up-piled.
...
I saw
the body spread on that dank stone,
And
knew those things which feasted were not men;
I knew
this strange, grey world was not my own,
But
Yuggoth, past the starry voids-and then
The
body shrieked at me with a dead cry,
And
all too late I knew that it was I!
V. Homecoming
(first
pub. The Fantasy Fan, 2, No. 5 (January 1935), 72)
The
daemon said that he would take me home
To
the pale, shadowy land I half-recalled
As
a high place of stair and terrace, walled
With
marble balustrades that sky-winds comb,
While
miles below a maze of dome on dome
And
tower on tower beside a sea lies sprawled.
Once
more, he told me, I would stand enthralled
On
those old heights, and hear the far-off foam.
All
this he promised, and through sunset's gate
He
swept me, past the lapping lakes of Flame,
And
red-gold thrones of gods without a name
Who
shriek in fear at some impending fate
Then
a black gulf with sea-sounds in the night"
"Here
was your home," he mocked, "when you had sight!"
VI.
The Lamp
(first
pub. Driftwind, 5, No. 5 (March 1931), 16.)
We found
the lamp inside those hollow cliffs
Whose
chiselled sign no priest in Thebes could read,
And
from whose caverns frightened hieroglyphs
Warned
every living creature of earth's breed.
No
more was there-just that one brazen bowl
With
traces of a curious oil within;
Fretted
wtih some obscurely patterned scroll
And
symbols hinting vaguely of strange sin.
Little
the fears of forty centuris meant
To
us as we bore off our slender spoil
And
when we scanned it in our darkened tent
We
struck a match to test the ancient oil
It
blazed-Great God!. . . But the vast shapes we saw
In
that mad flash have seared our lives with awe.
VII.
Zaman's Hill
(first
pub. Driftwind, 9, No. 4 (October 1934), 125)
The
great hill hung close over the old town
A precipice
against the main street's end
Green,
tall, and wooded, looking darkly down
Upon
the steeple at the highway bend
Two
hundred years the whispers had been heard
About
what happened on the man-shunned slope
Thales
of an oddly mangled dear or bird
Or
of lost boys whose kin had ceased to hope
One
day the mail-man found no village there
Nor
were its folks or house seen again
People
came out of Aylesbury to state
Yet
they all told the mail-man it was plain
That
he was mad for saying he had spied
The
great hill's gluttonous eyes, and jaws stretched wide
VIII.
The Port
(fist
pub. Driftwind, 5, No. 3 (November 1930), 36.)
Ten
miles from Arkham I had struck the trail
That
rides the cliff-edge over Boynton Beach,
And
hoped that just at asunset I could reach
The
crest tht looks on Innsmouth in the vale.
Far
out at sea was a retreating sail
White
as hard years of ancient winds could bleach
But
evil with some portent byeond speech
So
that I did not wave my hand or hail.
Sails
out of Innsmouth! Echoing old renown
Of
long-dead times, but now a too-swift night
Is
closing in, and I have reached the height
Whence
I so often scan the distant town
The
spires and roofs are there-but look! The gloom
Sinks
on dark lanes, as lightless as the tomb!
IX.
The Courtyard
(first
pub. Weird Tales, 16, No. 3 (September 1930), 322.)
It was
the city I had known before;
The
ancient, leprous town where mongrel throngs
Chant
to strange gods, and beat unhallowed gongs
In
crypts beneath foul alleys near the shor.
The
rotting, fish-eyed houses leered at me
From
where they leaned, drunk and half-animate,
As
edging through the filth I passed the gate
To
the black courtyard where the man would be....
The
dark walls closed me in, and loud I cursed
That
ever I had come to such a den,
When
suddenly a score of windows burst
Into
wild light, and swarmed with dancing men:
Mad,
soundless revels of the dragging dead-
And
not a corpse had either hands or head!
X. The
Pigeon-Flyers
(Weird
Tales, 39, No. 9 (January 1947), 96.)
They
took me slumming, where gaunt walls of brick
Bulge
outward with s viscous stored-up evil
And
twisted faces, thronging foul and thick
Wink
messages to alien god and devil
A million
fires were blazing in the streets
And
from flat roofs a furtive few would fly
Bedraggled
birds into the yawning sky
While
hidden drums droned on with measured beats.
......
I knew
those fires where brewing monstrous things,
And
that those birds of space has been Outside-
I guessed
to what dark planet's crypts they plied
and
wht they brought from Thog beneath their wings
The
others laughed-till struck too mute to speak
By
what they glimpsed in one bird's evil beak.
XI.
The Well
(first
pub. The Providence Journal, 102, No. 116 (14 May 1930), 15.)
Farmer
Seth Atwood was past eight when
He
tried to sink that deep well by his door
With
only Eb to help him bore and bore
We
laughed, and hoped he'd soon be sane again
And
yet, instead, young Eb went crazy, too,
So
that they shipped him to the county farm
Seth
bricked up the well-mouth up as tight as glue-
Then
hacked an artery in his gnarled left arm.
...
...
After
the funeral we felt bound to get
Out
to that well and rip the bricks away
But
all we saw were iron handholds set
Down
a black hole deeper than we could say
And
yet we put the bricks back-for we found
The
hole too deep for any line to sound.
XII.
The Howler
(first
pub. Driftwind, 7, no. 3 (November 1932), 100.)
They
told me not to take the Briggs' Hill path
That
used to be the highroad through to Zoar,
For
Goody Watkins, hanged in seventeen-four,
Had
left a certain monstrous aftermath.
Yet
when I disobeyed, and had in view
The
vine-hung cottage by the great rock slope,
I could
not think of elms or hempen rope,
But
wondered why the house still seemed so new.
...
Stopping
a while to watch the fading day,
I heard
faint howls, as from a room upstairs,
When
through the ivied panes one sunset ray
Struck
in, and caught the howler unawares.
I glimpsed
- and ran in frenzy from the place,
And
from a four-pawed thing with human face.
