[From: “The
Writings of C. James Gwyllyn”]
Darkness loomed like gothic spires
lit by silver candle-fires;
the wind moaned low like ghostly choirs
in the cathedral of the night.
My footsteps hastened away from Thwaite;
my errand there had made me late.
The bright day met its nightly fate
and perished out of sight.
Upon that road, that misty strand
piercing through a forest-land
of twisted trees, I could understand
the many terrors of the night:
Such gnarled arms and demon-faces
emerged from deep and dire places
to chase away all holy graces
and impede me if they might.
The shapes pressed inward, I rushed along;
my frame was weary, the wind was strong.
I tried to sing a hopeful song
in the cathedral of the night.
The song soon died; I fought despair.
But lo! what was that glinting there
beyond the trees? A light most fair:
my home at last in sight!
The door opened out, I heard my name,
the hearth brimmed with a golden flame
and merry faces all exclaimed:
Come in now from the night!
Darkness loomed like gothic spires
lit by silver candle-fires;
the wind moaned low like ghostly choirs
in the cathedral of the night.
My footsteps hastened away from Thwaite;
my errand there had made me late.
The bright day met its nightly fate
and perished out of sight.
Upon that road, that misty strand
piercing through a forest-land
of twisted trees, I could understand
the many terrors of the night:
Such gnarled arms and demon-faces
emerged from deep and dire places
to chase away all holy graces
and impede me if they might.
The shapes pressed inward, I rushed along;
my frame was weary, the wind was strong.
I tried to sing a hopeful song
in the cathedral of the night.
The song soon died; I fought despair.
But lo! what was that glinting there
beyond the trees? A light most fair:
my home at last in sight!
The door opened out, I heard my name,
the hearth brimmed with a golden flame
and merry faces all exclaimed:
Come in now from the night!
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