Festival by HP Lovecraft
Channel: Dave Higgins
Date: 05/11/2015

There is snow on the ground,
        And the valleys are cold,
    And a midnight profound
        Blackly squats o’er the wold;
But a light on the hilltops half-seen hints of feastings unhallow’d and old.

    There is death in the clouds,
        There is fear in the night,
    For the dead in their shrouds
        Hail the sun’s turning flight,
And chant wild in the woods as they dance round a Yule-altar fungous and white.

    To no gale of earth’s kind
        Sways the forest of oak,
    Where the sick boughs entwin’d
        By mad mistletoes choke,
For these pow’rs are the pow’rs of the dark, from the graves of the lost Druid-folk.

    And mayst thou to such deeds
        Be an abbot and priest,
    Singing cannibal greeds
        At each devil-wrought feast,
And to all the incredulous world shewing dimly the sign of the beast.