From: bliss-sf4ever@dslextreme.com   
      
   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 weaves thro’ 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.   
      
   So here again stretch the vale and plain   
   That moons long-forgotten saw,   
   And the dead leap gay in the pallid ray,   
   Sprung out of the tomb’s black maw   
   To shake all the world with awe.   
      
   And all that the morn shall greet forlorn,   
   The ugliness and the pest   
   Of rows where thick rise the stones and brick,   
   Shall some day be with the rest,   
   And brood with the shades unblest.   
      
   Then wild in the dark let the lemurs bark,   
   And the leprous spires ascend;   
   For new and old alike in the fold   
   Of horror and death are penn’d,   
   For the hounds of Time to rend.   
      
      
      
   	Just sharing....   
   	bliss   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)