The Poetry of H. P. Lovecraft

Including the Essays 'The Allowable Rhyme' and 'Metrical Regularity'

H. P. Lovecraft

• Éditeur: Ragged Hand - Read & Co.
• Année: 2020
• ISBN:
  9781528790321
• Sujet: Literature
• Sous-sujet: American Poetry

From the famous horror writer, H.P. Lovecraft, comes this brand new collection of poetry. From the macabre work he's best known for to his gentle odes to nature, this volume includes many of Lovecraft's most effective poems.

The Poetry of H.P. Lovecraft collates the horror writer's wide variety of poetry into one compact collection. Including Lovecraft's fantasy work, satirical pieces, nature poetry and occasion verse written for specific events, this volume introduces the reader to a whole new side of the writer's personality and work. Many of the poems nod to Lovecraft's roots in horror, and even in his poetry we see the classic disturbing sentiments that make his work unique.

This collection includes poems such as:

- 'An Ode to Selene or Diana' - 'On Receiving a Picture of Swans' - 'A Garden' - 'Nemesis' - 'The Nightmare Lake' - 'The Ancient Track'

These poems have been published in a new collection by Read & Co. Books' vintage poetry imprint, Ragged Hand, for a new generation of readers to enjoy. Complete with two introductory essays by Lovecraft, 'The Allowable Rhyme' and 'Metrical Regularity', this volume is not to be missed by fans of Lovecraft's work or lovers of poetry.

THE
POETRY OF
H. P. LOVECRAFT

A COLLECTION

ODE TO
SELENE OR DIANA

Immortal Moon, in maiden splendour shine.
Dispense thy beams, divine Latona’s child.
Thy silver rays all grosser things define,
And hide harsh truth in sweet illusion mild.

In thy soft light, the city of unrest
That stands so squalid in thy brother’s glare
Throws off its habit, and in silence blest
Becomes a vision, sparkling bright and fair.

The modern world, with all it’s care & pain,
The smoky streets, the hideous clanging mills,
Face ’neath thy beams, Selene, and again
We dream like shepherds on Chaldæa’s hills.

Take heed, Diana, of my humble plea.
Convey me where my happiness may last.
Draw me against the tide of time’s rough sea
And let my sprirt rest amid the past.

First published in
The Tryout, April 1919

ON RECEIVING
A PICTURE OF SWANS

With pensive grace the melancholy Swan
Mourns o’er the tomb of luckless Phaëton;
On grassy banks the weeping poplars wave,
And guard with tender care the wat’ry grave.
Would that I might, should I too proudly claim
An Heav’nly parent, or a Godlike fame,
When flown too high, and dash’d to depths below,
Receive such tribute as a Cygnus’ woe!
The faithful bird, that dumbly floats along,
Sighs all the deeper for his want of song.

First published in
The Conservative, January 1916

TO THE OLD
PAGAN RELIGION

Olympian gods! How can I let ye go
And pin my faith to this new Christian creed?
Can I resign the deities I know
For him who on a cross for man did bleed?

How in my weakness can my hopes depend
On one lone God, though mighty be his pow’r?
Why can Jove’s host no more assistance lend,
To soothe my pain, and cheer my troubled hour?

Are there no Dryads on these wooded mounts
O’er which I oft in desolation roam?
Are there no Naiads in these crystal founts?
Nor Nereids upon the Ocean foam?

Fast spreads the new; the older faith declines.
The name of Christ resounds upon the air.
But my wrack’d soul in solitude repines
And gives the Gods their last-receivèd pray’r.

First published in
The Tryout, April 1919

UNDA

OR,
THE BRIDE OF THE SEA

Respectfully
Dedicated with Permission to
Maurice Winter Moe, Esq.
A Dull, Dark, Drear, Dactylic Delirium
in Sixteen Silly, Senseless, Sickly Stanzas

“Ego, canus, lunam cano.”

— Maevius Bavianus

Black loom the crags of the uplands behind me;
Dark are the sands of the far-stretching shore.
Dim are the pathways and rocks that remind me
Sadly of years in the lost nevermore.

Soft laps the ocean on wave-polish’d boulder;
Sweet is the sound and familiar to me.
Here, with her head gently bent to my shoulder,
Walk’d I with Unda, the Bride of the Sea.

Bright was the morn of my youth when I met her,
Sweet as the breeze that blew in o’er the brine.
Swift was I captur’d in Love’s strongest fetter,
Glad to be hers, and she glad to be mine.

Never a question ask’d I where she wander’d,
Never a question ask’d she of my birth:
Happy as children, we thought not nor ponder’d,
Glad with the bounty of ocean and earth.

Once when the moonlight play’d soft ’mid the billows,
High on the cliff o’er the waters...