The Voices Waken Memory

The blind black shadows reach inhuman arms To draw me into darkness once again; The brooding night wind hints of nameless harms, And down the shadowed hill a vague refrain Bears half-remembered ghosts to haunt my soul, Like far-off neighing of the nightmare's foal.

But let me fix my phantom-shadowed eyes Hard on the stars — pale points of silver light— Here is the borderlad — here reason lies— There, vision, gryphons, Nothing, and the Night. Down, down, red spectres, down, and rack me not! Out, wolves of Hell! Oh God, my pulses thrum; The night grows fierce and blind and red and hot, And nearer still a frim insistent drum.

I will not look into the shadows — No! The star shall grip and hold my frantic gaze— But even in the stars black visions grow, And dragons writhe with iron eyes ablaze. Oh Gods that raised my blindness with your curse, And let me see the horrid shapes behind All outward veils that cloak the universe, The loathsome demon-spells that bind and blind, Since even the stars are noisome, foul and fell, Let me glut deep with memory dreams of hell.

Robert E. Howard