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Лавкрафт Говард Филипс - Festival



poetry Говард Филлипс Лавкрафт FESTIVAL 1926 en en i_no_k inok.goo@gmail.com Fiction Book Designer, Fiction Book Investigator 28.07.2006 www.lib.ru FBD-UW87N8I5-D3HN-95UB-8BMR-K0RH9PH0EWVD 1.0 Говард Филлипс Лавкрафт
FESTIVAL
And the valleys are cold,And a midnight profoundBlackly squats o'er the wold;But a light on the hilltops half-seen hints offeastings unhallowed and old.There is death in the clouds,There is fear in the night,For the dead in their shroudsHail the sun's turning flight.And chant wild in the woods as they danceround a Yule-altar fungous and white.To no gale of Earth's kindSways the forest of oak,Where the thick boughs entwinedBy mad mistletoes choke,For these pow'rs are the pow'rs of the dark,from the graves of the lost Druid-folk.And mayst thou to such deedsBe an abbot and priest,Singing cannibal greedsAt each devil-wrought feast,And to all the incredulous worldshewing dimly the sign of the beast.



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