Hallowe’en in a Suburb
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.
For harvests that fly and fail.
And the ghouls of the churchyard wail
And comes to twine where the headstones shine
In the meadows that shimmer pale,
A chill wind weaves thro’ the rows of sheaves
Excerpt from H.P. Lovecraft
My seasonal collection of fall-themed goodies! Please note: Wax Melts and Cold Processed Soaps will NOT be restocked!