Festival

Written 1926
Published December 1926 in Weird Tales

              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 unhallowed 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 thick boughs entwined

                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.

Explanatory Notes:

Originally a christmas poem sent to Farnsworth Wright, who surprised Lovecraft by publishing it as "Yule Horror."