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The Messenger |
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by H. P. Lovecraft |
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(first pub. Weird Tales) |
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The thing he said would come in the night at three |
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From the old churchyard on the hill below; |
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But crouching by an oak fire's wholesome glow, |
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I tried to tell myself it could not be. |
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Surely, I mused, it was pleasantry |
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Devised by one who did not truly know |
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The Elder Sign, bequeathed from long ago, |
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That sets the fumbling forms of darkness free. |
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He had not meant it - no - but still I lit |
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Another lamp as starry Leo climbed |
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Out of the Seekonk, and a steeple chimed |
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Three - and the firelight faded, bit by bit. |
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Then at the door that cautious rattling came - |
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And the mad truth devoured me like a flame! |
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-----Finis----- |
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Copyright @ 1998, Miskatonic University Press |
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