Fiddle Faddle« & Screaming Yellow Zonkers«, przepisy, Przepisy Pizza Hut KFC MC DONALDS, Przepisy po angielsku
Fatburger«, przepisy, Przepisy Pizza Hut KFC MC DONALDS, Przepisy po angielsku
Food 20 adjectives, ANGIELSKI, !!!!!!!!!!pomoce, słownictwo, food
Frommer's Naples and the Amalfi Coast day BY Day, Travel Guides- Przewodniki (thanx angielski i stuff)
Frommer s Sicily Day By Day, Travel Guides- Przewodniki (thanx angielski i stuff)
Fuyumi Ono - Twelve Kingdoms 01 - Shadow of the Moon a Sea of Shadows, Angielskie [EN](4)(2)
Farago&Zwijnenberg (eds) - Compelling Visuality ~ The work of art in and out of history, sztuka i nie tylko po angielsku
Forex Study Book For Successful Foreign Exchange Dealing, gielda walutowa, Angielskie
Fundamentals of Anatomy and Physiology - 8e - M22 MART5891 08 SE C22, Angielskie [EN](4)(2)
Fundamentals of Anatomy and Physiology - 8e - M27 MART5891 08 SE C27, Angielskie [EN](4)(2)
Fungi from Yuggoth, Angielskie [EN](4)(2)
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]Fungi from Yuggoth by H. P. LovecraftFungi from Yuggothby H.P. LovecraftWritten 1929-30PublishedI. The BookThe place was dark and dusty and half-lostIn tangles of old alleys near the quays,Reeking of strange things brought in from the seas,And with queer curls of fog that west winds tossed.Small lozenge panes, obscured by smoke and frost,Just shewed the books, in piles like twisted trees,Rotting from floor to roof - congeriesOf crumbling elder lore at little cost.I entered, charmed, and from a cobwebbed heapTook up the nearest tome and thumbed it through,Trembling at curious words that seemed to keepSome secret, monstrous if one only knew.Then, looking for some seller old in craft,I could find nothing but a voice that laughed.II. PursuitI held the book beneath my coat, at painsTo hide the thing from sight in such a place;Hurrying through the ancient harbor lanesWith often-turning head and nervous pace.Dull, furtive windows in old tottering brickPeered at me oddly as I hastened by,And thinking what they sheltered, I grew sickFor a redeeming glimpse of clean blue sky.No one had seen me take the thing - but stillA blank laugh echoed in my whirling head,And I could guess what nighted worlds of illLurked in that volume I had coveted.The way grew strange - the walls alike and madding -And far behind me, unseen feet were padding.III. The KeyI do not know what windings in the wasteOf those strange sea-lanes brought me home once more,But on my porch I trembled, white with hasteTo get inside and bolt the heavy door.I had the book that told the hidden wayAcross the void and through the space-hung screensThat hold the undimensioned worlds at bay,And keep lost aeons to their own demesnes.At last the key was mine to those vague visionsOf sunset spires and twilight woods that broodDim in the gulfs beyond this earth's precisions,Lurking as memories of infinitude.The key was mine, but as I sat there mumbling,The attic window shook with a faint fumbling.IV. RecognitionThe day had come again, when as a childI saw - just once - that hollow of old oaks,Grey with a ground-mist that enfolds and chokesThe slinking shapes which madness has defiled.It was the same - an herbage rank and wildClings round an altar whose carved sign invokesThat Nameless One to whom a thousand smokesRose, aeons gone, from unclean towers up-piled.I saw the body spread on that dank stone,And knew those things which feasted were not men;I knew this strange, grey world was not my own,But Yuggoth, past the starry voids - and thenThe body shrieked at me with a dead cry,And all too late I knew that it was I!V. HomecomingThe daemon said that he would take me homeTo the pale, shadowy land I half recalledAs a high place of stair and terrace, walledWith marble balustrades that sky-winds comb,While miles below a maze of dome on domeAnd tower on tower beside a sea lies sprawled.Once more, he told me, I would stand enthralledOn those old heights, and hear the far-off foam.All this he promised, and through sunset's gateHe swept me, past the lapping lakes of flame,And red-gold thrones of gods without a nameWho shriek in fear at some impending fate.Then a black gulf with sea-sounds in the night:"Here was your home," he mocked, "when you had sight!"VI. The LampWe found the lamp inside those hollow cliffsWhose chiseled sign no priest in Thebes could read,And from whose caverns frightened hieroglyphsWarned every living creature of earth's breed.No more was there - just that one brazen bowlWith traces of a curious oil within;Fretted with some obscurely patterned scroll,And symbols hinting vaguely of strange sin.Little the fears of forty centuries meantTo us as we bore off our slender spoil,And when we scanned it in our darkened tentWe struck a match to test the ancient oil.It blazed - great God!... But the vast shapes we sawIn that mad flash have seared our lives with awe.VII. Zaman's HillThe great hill hung close over the old town,A precipice against the main street's end;Green, tall, and wooded, looking darkly downUpon the steeple at the highway bend.Two hundred years the whispers had been heardAbout what happened on the man-shunned slope -Tales of an oddly mangled deer or bird,Or of lost boys whose kin had ceased to hope.One day the mail-man found no village there,Nor were its folk or houses seen again;People came out from Aylesbury to stare -Yet they all told the mail-man it was plainThat he was mad for saying he had spiedThe great hill's gluttonous eyes, and jaws stretched wide.VIII. The PortTen miles from Arkham I had struck the trailThat rides the cliff-edge over Boynton Beach,And hoped that just at sunset I could reachThe crest that looks on Innsmouth in the vale.Far out at sea was a retreating sail,White as hard years of ancient winds could bleach,But evil with some portent beyond speech,So that I did not wave my hand or hail.Sails out of lnnsmouth! echoing old renownOf long-dead times. But now a too-swift nightIs closing in, and I have reached the heightWhence I so often scan the distant town.The spires and roofs are there - but look! The gloomSinks on dark lanes, as lightless as the tomb!IX. The CourtyardIt was the city I had known before;The ancient, leprous town where mongrel throngsChant to strange gods, and beat unhallowed gongsIn crypts beneath foul alleys near the shore.The rotting, fish-eyed houses leered at meFrom where they leaned, drunk and half-animate,As edging through the filth I passed the gateTo the black courtyard where the man would be.The dark walls closed me in, and loud I cursedThat ever I had come to such a den,When suddenly a score of windows burstInto wild light, and swarmed with dancing men:Mad, soundless revels of the dragging dead -And not a corpse had either hands or head!X. The Pigeon-FlyersThey took me slumming, where gaunt walls of brickBulge outward with a viscous stored-up evil,And twisted faces, thronging foul and thick,Wink messages to alien god and devil.A million fires were blazing in the streets,And from flat roofs a furtive few would flyBedraggled birds into the yawning skyWhile hidden drums droned on with measured beats.I knew those fires were brewing monstrous things,And that those birds of space had been Outside -I guessed to what dark planet's crypts they plied,And what they brought from Thog beneath their wings.The others laughed - till struck too mute to speakBy what they glimpsed in one bird's evil beak.XI. The WellFarmer Seth Atwood was past eighty whenHe tried to sink that deep well by his door,With only Eb to help him bore and bore.We laughed, and hoped he'd soon be sane again.And yet, instead, young Eb went crazy, too,So that they shipped him to the county farm.Seth bricked the well-mouth up as tight as glue -Then hacked an artery in his gnarled left arm.After the funeral we felt bound to getOut to that well and rip the bricks away,But all we saw were iron hand-holds setDown a black hole deeper than we could say.And yet we put the bricks back - for we foundThe hole too deep for any line to sound.XII. The HowlerThey told me not to take the Briggs' Hill pathThat used to be the highroad through to Zoar,For Goody Watkins, hanged in seventeen-four,Had left a certain monstrous aftermath.Yet when I disobeyed, and had in viewThe vine-hung cottage by the great rock slope,I could not think of elms or hempen rope,But wondered why the house still seemed so new.Stopping a while to watch the fading day,I heard faint howls, as from a room upstairs,When through the ivied panes one sunset rayStruck in, and caught the howler unawares.I glimpsed - and ran in frenzy from the place,And from a four-pawed thing with human face.XIII. HesperiaThe winter sunset, flaming beyond spiresAnd chimneys half-detached from this dull sphere,Opens great gates to some forgotten yearOf elder splendours and divine desires.Expectant wonders burn in those rich fires,Adventure-fraught, and not untinged with fear;A row of sphinxes where the way leads clearToward walls and turrets quivering to far lyres.It is the land where beauty's meaning flowers;Where every unplaced memory has a source;Where the great river Time begins its courseDown the vast void in starlit streams of hours.Dreams bring us close - but ancient lore repeatsThat human tread has never soiled these streets.XIV. Star-WindsIt is a certain hour of twilight glooms,Mostly in autumn, when the star-wind poursDown hilltop streets, deserted out-of-doors,But shewing early lamplight from snug rooms.The dead leaves rush in strange, fantastic twists,And chimney-smoke whirls round with alien grace,Heeding geometries of outer space,While Fomalhaut peers in through southward mists.This is the hour when moonstruck poets knowWhat fungi sprout in Yuggoth, and what scentsAnd tints of flowers fill Nithon's continents,Such as in no poor earthly garden blow.Yet for each dream these winds to us convey,A dozen more of ours they sweep away!XV. AntarktosDeep in my dream the great bird whispered queerlyOf the black cone amid the polar waste;Pushing above the ice-sheet lone and drearly,By storm-crazed aeons battered and defaced.Hither no living earth-shapes take their courses,And only pale auroras and faint sunsGlow on that pitted rock, whose primal sourcesAre guessed at dimly by the Elder Ones.If men should glimpse it, they would merely wonderWhat tricky mound of Nature's build they spied;But the bird told of vaster parts, that underThe mile-deep... [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
