The steeples are white in the wild moonlight, <br />And the trees have a silver glare; <br />Past the chimneys high see the vampires fly, <br />And the harpies of upper air, <br />That flutter and laugh and stare. <br /> <br />For the village dead to the moon outspread <br />Never shone in the sunset's gleam, <br />But grew out of the deep that the dead years keep <br />Where the rivers of madness stream <br />Down the gulfs to a pit of dream. <br /> <br />A chill wind blows through the rows of sheaves <br />In the meadows that shimmer pale, <br />And comes to twine where the headstones shine <br />And the ghouls of the churchyard wail <br />For harvests that fly and fail. <br /> <br />Not a breath of the strange grey gods of change <br />That tore from the past its own <br />Can quicken this hour, when a spectral power <br />Spreads sleep o'er the cosmic throne, <br />And looses the vast unknown. <br /> <br />So here again stretch the vale and plain <br />That moons long-forgotten saw, <br />And the dead leap gay in the pallid ray, <br />Sprung out of the tomb's black maw <br />To shake all the world with awe. <br /> <br />And all that the morn shall greet forlorn, <br />The ugliness and the pest <br />Of rows where thick rise the stones and brick, <br />Shall some day be with the rest, <br />And brood with the shades unblest. <br /> <br />Then wild in the dark let the lemurs bark, <br />And the leprous spires ascend; <br />For new and old alike in the fold <br />Of horror and death are penned, <br />For the hounds of Time to rend.<br /><br />Howard Phillips Lovecraft<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hallowe-en-in-a-suburb/
