eldritchhobbit: (Halloween/vintage)
[personal profile] eldritchhobbit
The day is here, my friends! We made it! Happy Halloween, Happy Samhain, and (slightly early) Happy Día de los Muertos!

Thank you for joining me in my month-long holiday celebration. I truly hope you've enjoyed it. I have!

To those of you who have shared goodies with me through email or snailmail or other means, thank you so very much for making the holiday extra-special for me!!!

Everyone, please stop by, grab a virtual latte or cider or hot cocoa, a candied apple or some roasted pumpkin seeds, or even a goblet of blood and a plate of brains, and say hello!


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Happy birthday to [livejournal.com profile] greenhoodloxley, and happy early birthday to [livejournal.com profile] ithiliana, [livejournal.com profile] amedia, [livejournal.com profile] madkestrel, [livejournal.com profile] crackferret, [livejournal.com profile] thaisa, [livejournal.com profile] actourdreams, [livejournal.com profile] tlg2009, [livejournal.com profile] coppervale, [livejournal.com profile] st_crispins, [livejournal.com profile] adamantrealm, [livejournal.com profile] sneezythesquid, [livejournal.com profile] bibliotrope, [livejournal.com profile] crazywritergirl, [livejournal.com profile] rymfireebooks, and [livejournal.com profile] darchildre. May all of you enjoy many happy returns of the day!


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Now for the grand finale. What can I say? This is my favorite. I hope you enjoy "Hallowe'en in a Suburb" by H.P. Lovecraft (1890-1937).

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.

A chill wind weaves through the rows of sheaves
In the meadows that shimmer pale,
And comes to twine where the headstones shine
And the ghouls of the churchyard wail
For harvests that fly and fail.

Not a breath of the strange grey gods of change
That tore from the past its own
Can quicken this hour, when a spectral power
Spreads sleep o'er the cosmic throne,
And looses the vast unknown.

So here again stretch the vale and plain
That moons long-forgotten saw,
And the dead leap gay in the pallid ray,
Sprung out of the tomb's black maw
To shake all the world with awe.

And all that the morn shall greet forlorn,
The ugliness and the pest
Of rows where thick rise the stones and brick,
Shall some day be with the rest,
And brood with the shades unblest.

Then wild in the dark let the lemurs bark,
And the leprous spires ascend;
For new and old alike in the fold
Of horror and death are penned,
For the hounds of Time to rend.

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