H.P. Lovecraft

1890-1937 / Male / American

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An American to Mother EnglandEngland! My England! can the surging sea / That lies between us tear my heart from thee? / Can distant birth and distant dwelling drain

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AstrophobosIn the Midnight heaven's burning / Through the ethereal deeps afar / Once I watch'd with restless yearning

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Christmas BlessingsAs when a pigeon, loos'd in realms remote, / Takes instant wing, and seeks his native cote, / So speed my blessings from a barb'rous clime

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DespairO'er the midnight moorlands crying, / Thro' the cypress forests sighing, / In the night-wind madly flying,

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Egyptian ChristmasHaughty Sphinx, whose amber eyes / Hold the secrets of the skies, / As thou ripplest in thy grace,

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Fact and FancyHow dull the wretch, whose philosophic mind / Disdains the pleasures of fantastic kind; / Whose prosy thoughts the joys of life exclude,

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FestivalThere is snow on the ground, / And the valleys are cold, / And a midnight profound

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Good Saint NickMay good St. Nick, like as a bird of night, / Bring thee rich blessings in his annual flight; / Long by thy chimney rest his pond'rous pack,

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Halcyon DaysOnce more the ancient feast returns, / And the bright hearth domestic burns / With Yuletide's added blaze;

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Hallowe'en in a SuburbThe steeples are white in the wild moonlight, / And the trees have a silver glare; / Past the chimneys high see the vampires fly,

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