The day is here, my friends! We made it! Happy Halloween, Happy Samhain, and (slightly early) Happy Día de los Muertos!
Thank you so much for joining me in my month-long holiday celebration. I truly hope you've enjoyed it. I have!
Extra thanks to those of you who sent Halloween v-gifts for my LJ. They put a huge smile on my face!
Please stop by, grab a virtual latte or cider or hot cocoa, a candied apple or some roasted pumpkin seeds, or even a goblet of blood and a plate of brains, and say hello!
If you haven't checked out the Halloween posts of Book Chick City or any of the other participants in Countdown to Halloween, you have time to catch up on all the goodness today! As always, you can find all of my past Halloween posts here.
Text of the Day: What can I say? This is my favorite. I hope you enjoy "Hallowe'en in a Suburb" by H.P. Lovecraft (1890-1937).
The steeples are white in the wild moonlight,
And the trees have a silver glare;
Past the chimneys high see the vampires fly,
And the harpies of upper air,
That flutter and laugh and stare.
For the village dead to the moon outspread
Never shone in the sunset's gleam,
But grew out of the deep that the dead years keep
Where the rivers of madness stream
Down the gulfs to a pit of dream.
A chill wind weaves through the rows of sheaves
In the meadows that shimmer pale,
And comes to twine where the headstones shine
And the ghouls of the churchyard wail
For harvests that fly and fail.
Not a breath of the strange grey gods of change
That tore from the past its own
Can quicken this hour, when a spectral power
Spreads sleep o'er the cosmic throne,
And looses the vast unknown.
So here again stretch the vale and plain
That moons long-forgotten saw,
And the dead leap gay in the pallid ray,
Sprung out of the tomb's black maw
To shake all the world with awe.
And all that the morn shall greet forlorn,
The ugliness and the pest
Of rows where thick rise the stones and brick,
Shall some day be with the rest,
And brood with the shades unblest.
Then wild in the dark let the lemurs bark,
And the leprous spires ascend;
For new and old alike in the fold
Of horror and death are penned,
For the hounds of Time to rend.
Thank you so much for joining me in my month-long holiday celebration. I truly hope you've enjoyed it. I have!
Extra thanks to those of you who sent Halloween v-gifts for my LJ. They put a huge smile on my face!
Please stop by, grab a virtual latte or cider or hot cocoa, a candied apple or some roasted pumpkin seeds, or even a goblet of blood and a plate of brains, and say hello!
If you haven't checked out the Halloween posts of Book Chick City or any of the other participants in Countdown to Halloween, you have time to catch up on all the goodness today! As always, you can find all of my past Halloween posts here.
Text of the Day: What can I say? This is my favorite. I hope you enjoy "Hallowe'en in a Suburb" by H.P. Lovecraft (1890-1937).
The steeples are white in the wild moonlight,
And the trees have a silver glare;
Past the chimneys high see the vampires fly,
And the harpies of upper air,
That flutter and laugh and stare.
For the village dead to the moon outspread
Never shone in the sunset's gleam,
But grew out of the deep that the dead years keep
Where the rivers of madness stream
Down the gulfs to a pit of dream.
A chill wind weaves through the rows of sheaves
In the meadows that shimmer pale,
And comes to twine where the headstones shine
And the ghouls of the churchyard wail
For harvests that fly and fail.
Not a breath of the strange grey gods of change
That tore from the past its own
Can quicken this hour, when a spectral power
Spreads sleep o'er the cosmic throne,
And looses the vast unknown.
So here again stretch the vale and plain
That moons long-forgotten saw,
And the dead leap gay in the pallid ray,
Sprung out of the tomb's black maw
To shake all the world with awe.
And all that the morn shall greet forlorn,
The ugliness and the pest
Of rows where thick rise the stones and brick,
Shall some day be with the rest,
And brood with the shades unblest.
Then wild in the dark let the lemurs bark,
And the leprous spires ascend;
For new and old alike in the fold
Of horror and death are penned,
For the hounds of Time to rend.
- Current Music:"Thriller," Michael Jackson
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Comments
And thank you for the v-gift.
Lacey sends Happy Halloween greetings and tail wags to Virginia.
Virginia and I send ear scratches and tummy rubs to Lacey. :)
Edited at 2011-11-01 01:52 pm (UTC)
Edited at 2011-10-31 02:41 pm (UTC)
Loved all your posts. :D
On his “Death-Day” Nearly Headless Nick remains one of the most memorable. Executed — badly — on Halloween of 1492, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington
In the first draft of 'Chamber of Secrets', Nick sang a self-penned ballad explaining how his head had (nearly) come off. My (JKR) editor was not very fond of the song and so I cut it. However, for those who are curious, here is the story of Nick's decapitation in his own moving words.
31st – OCT- 1492 Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington sang a self-penned ballad explaining how his head had (nearly) come off
It was a mistake any wizard could make
Who was tired and caught on the hop
One piffling error, and then, to my terror,
I found myself facing the chop.
Alas for the eve when I met Lady Grieve
A-strolling the park in the dusk!
She was of the belief I could straighten her teeth
Next moment she'd sprouted a tusk.
I cried through the night that I'd soon put her right
But the process of justice was lax;
They'd brought out the block, though they'd mislaid the rock
Where they usually sharpened the axe.
Next morning at dawn, with a face most forlorn,
The priest said to try not to cry,
"You can come just like that, no, you won't need a hat,"
And I knew that my end must be nigh.
The man in the mask who would have the sad task
Of cleaving my head from my neck,
Said "Nick, if you please, will you get to your knees,"
And I turned to a gibbering wreck.
"This may sting a bit" said the cack-handed twit
As he swung the axe up in the air,
But oh the blunt blade! No difference it made,
My head was still definitely there.
The axeman he hacked and he whacked and he thwacked,
"Won't be too long", he assured me,
But quick it was not, and the bone-headed clot
Took forty-five goes 'til he floored me.
And so I was dead, but my faithful old head
It never saw fit to desert me,
It still lingers on, that's the end of my song,
And now, please applaud, or you'll hurt me.
—Sir Nicholas
(I'm applauding, Sir Nick! I'm applauding!)
Edited at 2011-11-01 02:07 pm (UTC)
—from an old Scottish litany
I don't know, though... I think I'd like to invite a few of those ghoulies and ghosties in for cocoa. Ha!