As when a pigeon, loos'd in realms remote,
Takes instant wing, and seeks his native cote,
So speed my blessings from a barb'rous clime
To thee and Providence at Christmas time!
More verses by Howard Phillips Lovecraft
- Christmas Snows
- Festival
- Ode For July Fourth, 1917
- On Reading Lord Dunsany's Book Of Wonder
- On Receiving A Picture Of Swans