Читать книгу Кошмар По-эта - Говард Лавкрафт, Говард Филлипс Лавкрафт, Adolphe de Castro - Страница 34

There were great steppes, and rocky table-lands

Stretching half-limitless in starlit night,

With alien campfires shedding feeble light

On beasts with tinkling bells, in shaggy bands.

Far to the south the plain sloped low and wide

To a dark zigzag line of wall that lay

Like a huge python of some primal day

Which endless time had chilled and petrified.

I shivered oddly in the cold, thin air,

And wondered where I was and how I came,

When a cloaked form against a campfire’s glare

Rose and approached, and called me by my name.

Staring at that dead face beneath the hood,

I ceased to hope – because I understood.