Incipit
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 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. …
332 mots · Poésie · texte intégral sur Wikisource.
Version transcrite — source non identifiée, 1926. (Le numéro dont Wikisource donne le texte ; ce n’est pas toujours la première parution.)
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Créatures — Les Goules (1)