Man's Respect For The Imponderables Varies According

Mid-summer ... When The Alchemy Of Nature Transmutes The Sylvan Landscape To One Vivid And Almost Homogeneous Mass Of Green; When The Senses Are Well-nigh Intoxicated With The Surging Seas Of Moist Verdure And The Subtly Indefinable Odours Of The Soil And The Vegetation. In Such Surroundings The Mind Loses Its Perspective; Time And Space Become Trivial And Unreal, And Echoes Of A Forgotten Prehistoric Past Beat Insistently Upon The Enthralled Consciousness.

So Far As English Versification Is Concerned, Pope Was The World, And All The World Was Pope.

Nyarlathotep . . . The Crawling Chaos . . . I Am The Last . . . I Will Tell The Audient Void. . . .

We Shall See That At Which Dogs Howl In The Dark, And That At Which Cats Prick Up Their Ears After Midnight.

In My Dreams I Found A Little Of The Beauty I Had Vainly Sought In Life, And Wandered Through Old Gardens And Enchanted Woods.