Delphi Complete Works of H. P. Lovecraft(768)

It dawn’d on my gaze;

The mad time of unreason,

The brain-numbing days

When Winter, white-sheeted and ghastly, stalks onward to torture and craze.



More lovely than Zion

It shone in the sky,

When the beams of Orion

Beclouded my eye,

Bringing sleep that was fill’d with dim mem’ries of moments obscure and gone by.



Its mansions were stately

With carvings made fair,

Each rising sedately

On terraces rare,

And the gardens were fragrant and bright with strange miracles blossoming there.



The avenues lur’d me

With vistas sublime;

Tall arches assur’d me

That once on a time

I had wander’d in rapture beneath them, and bask’d in the Halcyon clime.



On the plazas were standing

A sculptur’d array;

Long-bearded, commanding,

Grave men in their day —

But one stood dismantled and broken, its bearded face batter’d away.



In that city effulgent

No mortal I saw;

But my fancy, indulgent

To memory’s law,

Linger’d long on the forms in the plazas, and eyed their stone features with awe.



I fann’d the faint ember

That glow’d in my mind,

And strove to remember

The aeons behind;

To rove thro’ infinity freely, and visit the past unconfin’d.



Then the horrible warning

Upon my soul sped

Like the ominous morning

That rises in red,

And in panic I flew from the knowledge of terrors forgotten and dead.





To Edward John Moreton Drax Plunkett, Eighteenth Baron Dunsany



As when the sun above a dusky wold

Springs into sight, and turns the gloom to gold,

Lights with his magic beams the dew-deck’d bow’rs,

And wakes to life the gay responsive flow’rs;

So now o’er realms where dark’ning dulness lies,

In solar state see shining Plunkett rise!

Monarch of Fancy! whose ethereal mind

Mounts fairy peaks, and leaves the throng behind;

Whose soul untainted bursts the bounds of space,

And leads to regions of supernal grace;

Can any praise thee with too strong a tone,

Who in this age of folly gleam’st alone?

Thy quill, Dunsany, with an art divine

Recalls the gods to each deserted shrine;

From mystic air a novel pantheon makes,

And with new spirits fills the meads and brakes;

With thee we wander thro’ primeval bow’rs,

For thou hast brought earth’s childhood back, and ours!

How leaps the soul, with sudden bliss increas’d,

When led by thee to lands beyond the East!

Sick of this sphere, in crime and conflict old,

We yearn for wonders distant and untold;

O’er Homer’s page a second time we pore,

And rack our brains for gleams of infant lore:

But all in vain — for valiant tho’ we strive

No common means these pictures can revive.

Then dawns Dunsany with celestial light,

And fulgent visions break upon our sight:

His barque enchanted each sad spirit bears

To shores of gold, beyond the reach of cares.

No earthly trammels now our thoughts may chain;

For childhood’s fancy hath come back again!

What glitt’ring worlds now wait our eager eyes!

What roads untrodden beckon thro’ the skies!

Wonders on wonders line the gorgeous ways,

And glorious vistas greet the ravish’d gaze;

Mountains of clouds, castles of crystal dreams,

Ethereal cities and Elysian streams;

Temples of blue, where myriad stars adore

Forgotten gods of aeons gone before!

Such are thine arts, Dunsany, such thy skill,

That scarce terrestrial seems thy moving quill;

Can man, and man alone, successful draw

Such scenes of wonder and domains of awe?

Our hearts, enraptur’d, fix thy mind’s abode

In high Pegna; hail thee as a god;

And sure, can aught more high or godlike be

Than such a fancy as resides in thee?

Delighted Pan a friend and peer perceives

As thy sweet music stirs the sylvan leaves;

The Nine, transported, bless thy golden lyre,

Approve thy fancy, and applaud thy fire;

Whilst Jove himself assumes a brother’s tone,

And vows the pantheon equal to his own.

Dunsany, may thy days be glad and long;

Replete with visions, and atune with song;

May thy rare notes increasing millions cheer,

Thy name beloved, and thy mem’ry dear!

’Tis thou who hast in hours of dulness brought

New charms of language, and new gems of thought;

Hast with a poet’s grace enrich’d the earth

With aureate dreams as noble as thy birth.

Grateful we name thee, bright with fix’d renown,

The fairest jewel in Hibernia’s crown.





The Nightmare Lake



There is a lake in distant Zan,

Beyond the wonted haunts of man,

Where broods alone in a hideous state

A spirit dead and desolate;

A spirit ancient and unholy,

Heavy with fearsome melancholy,