by H. P. Lovecraft
- Year after year I heard that faint, far ringing
- Of deep-toned bells on the black midnight wind;
- Peals from no steeple I could ever find
- But strange, as if across some great void winging.
- I searched my dreams and memories for a clue,
- And thought of all the chimes my visions carried;
- Of quiet Innsmouth, where the white gulls tarried
- Around an ancient spire that once I knew.
- Always perplexed I heard those far notes falling,
- Till one March night the bleak rains splashing cold
- Beckoned me back through gateways of recalling
- To elder towers where the mad clappers tolled.
- They tolled - but from the sunless tides that pour
- Through sunken valleys on the sea`s dead floor.