O'er the midnight moorlands crying, <br />Thro' the cypress forests sighing, <br />In the night-wind madly flying, <br />Hellish forms with streaming hair; <br />In the barren branches creaking, <br />By the stagnant swamp-pools speaking, <br />Past the shore-cliffs ever shrieking, <br />Damn'd demons of despair. <br /> <br />Once, I think I half remember, <br />Ere the grey skies of November <br />Quench'd my youth's aspiring ember, <br />Liv'd there such a thing as bliss; <br />Skies that now are dark were beaming, <br />Bold and azure, splendid seeming <br />Till I learn'd it all was dreaming - <br />Deadly drowsiness of Dis. <br /> <br />But the stream of Time, swift flowing, <br />Brings the torment of half-knowing - <br />Dimly rushing, blindly going <br />Past the never-trodden lea; <br />And the voyager, repining, <br />Sees the wicked death-fires shining, <br />Hears the wicked petrel's whining <br />As he helpless drifts to sea. <br /> <br />Evil wings in ether beating; <br />Vultures at the spirit eating; <br />Things unseen forever fleeting <br />Black against the leering sky. <br />Ghastly shades of bygone gladness, <br />Clawing fiends of future sadness, <br />Mingle in a cloud of madness <br />Ever on the soul to lie. <br /> <br />Thus the living, lone and sobbing, <br />In the throes of anguish throbbing, <br />With the loathsome Furies robbing <br />Night and noon of peace and rest. <br />But beyond the groans and grating <br />Of abhorrent Life, is waiting <br />Sweet Oblivion, culminating <br />All the years of fruitless quest.<br /><br />Howard Phillips Lovecraft<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/despair-85/
