THE PORT

by H. P. LOVECRAFT

Ten miles from Arkham I had struck the trail


That rides the cliff-edge over Boynton Beach,


And hoped that just at sunset I could reach


The 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 Innsmouth! Echoing old renown


Of long-dead times. But now a too-swift night


Is closing in, and I have reached the height


Whence I so often scan the distant town.


The spires and roofs are there—but look! The gloom


Sinks on dark lanes, as lightless as the tomb!

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