People of the Monolith
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They say foul beings of Old Times still lurk In
dark forgotten corners of the
world,
And Gates still gape to loose, on
certain nights, Shapes pent in Hell.
– “People of the Monolith”
–––– –
They lumber through the night With their
elephantine tread;
I shudder in affright
As I cower in my bed.
They lift colossal wings
On the high gable roofs
Which tremble to the trample Of their
mastodonic hoofs.
– “Out of the Old Land”