Azathoth by H.P. Lovecraft

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Leaves.

Azathoth by H.P. Lovecraft


Written in June of 1922, published in 1938 in Leaves.

When age fell upon the world, and wonder went out of the minds of men;
when grey cities reared to smoky skies tall towers grim and ugly, in whose
shadow none might dream of the sun or of Spring's flowering meads; when
learning stripped the Earth of her mantle of beauty and poets sang no more of
twisted phantoms seen with bleared and inward looking eyes; when these
things had come to pass, and childish hopes had gone forever, there was a
man who travelled out of life on a quest into spaces whither the world's
dreams had fled.

Of the name and abode of this man little is written, for they were of the
waking world only; yet it is said that both were obscure. It is enough to say
that he dwelt in a city of high walls where sterile twilight reigned, that he toiled
all day among shadow and turmoil, coming home at evening to a room whose
one window opened not to open fields and groves but on to a dim court where
other windows stared in dull despair. From that casement one might see only
walls and windows, except sometimes when one leaned so far out and
peered at the small stars that passed. And because mere walls and windows
must soon drive a man to madness who dreams and reads much, the dweller
in that room used night after night to lean out and peer aloft to glimpse some
fragment of things beyond the waking world and the tall cities. After years he
began to call the slow sailing stars by name, and to follow them in fancy when
they glided regretfully out of sight; till at length his vision opened to many
secret vistas whose existance no common eye suspected. And one night a
mighty gulf was bridged, and the dream haunted skies swelled down to the
lonely watcher's window to merge with the close air of his room and to make
him a part of their fabulous wonder.

There came to that room wild streams of violet midnight glittering with dust of
gold, vortices of dust and fire, swirling out of the ultimate spaces and heavy
perfumes from beyond the worlds. Opiate oceans poured there, litten by suns
that the eye may never behold and having in their whirlpools strange dolphins
and sea-nymphs of unrememberable depths. Noiseless infinity eddied around
the dreamer and wafted him away without touching the body that leaned
stiffly from the lonely window; and for days not counted in men's calandars
the tides of far spheres that bore him gently to join the course of other cycles
that tenderly left him sleeping on a green sunrise shore, a green shore
fragrant with lotus blossums and starred by red camalotes...

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