The Window

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Throng of Shoggoths

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The house was old, with tangled wings outthrown
Of which no one could ever half keep track
And in a small room somewhat near the back 
Was an odd window sealed with ancient stone
There, in a dream-plagued childhood, quite alone 
I used to go, where night reigned vague and black
Parting the cobwebs with a curious lack 
Of fear, and with a wonder each time grown

One later day I brought the masons there 
To find what view my dim forbears had shunned
But as they pierced the stone, a rush of air 
Burst from the alien voids that yawned beyond
They fled-but I peered through and found unrolled 
All the wild worlds of which my dreams had told

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