Weird Tales/Volume 2/Issue 1/The Red Moon
THE RED MOON
BY CLARK ASHTON SMITH
The hills, a-throng with swarthy pine,
Press up the pale and hollow sky,
And the squat cypresses on high
Reach from the lit horizon-line.
They reack, they reach, with gnarled hands—
Malignant hags, obscene and dark—
While the red moon, a demons'-ark,
Is borne along the mystic lands.