Night-Gaunts

Out of what crypt they crawl, I cannot tell,But every night I see the rubbery things,Black, horned, and slender, with membranous wings,They come in legions on the north wind’s swellWith obscene clutch that titillates and stings,Snatching me off on monstrous voyagingsTo grey worlds hidden deep in nightmare’s well.

Over the jagged peaks of Thok they sweep,Heedless of all the cries I try to make,And down the nether pits to that foul lakeWhere the puffed shoggoths splash in doubtful sleep.But ho! If only they would make some sound,Or wear a face where faces should be found!