Page:Weird Tales volume 02 number 03.djvu/83

82 OU may recall the letter from H. P. Lovecraft, published here last month. A bit caustic, that letter; and today we have pleasure in offering another, which, if less stinging, is none-the-less enjoyable. Our friend Lovecraft always has something to say when he writes. Thus:

Mr. Lovecraft you will observe, is quite as deft with poetry as he is with prose; and, as further evidence of this, we submit the prologue to a 300-line heroic poem of his that we may print some day:

"I am he who howls in the night; I am he who moans in the snow; I am he who hath never seen light; I am he who mounts from below. My car is the car of death; My wings are the wings of dread; My breath is the north wind's breath; My prey are the cold and dead."

As you know, we are publishing a series of Mr. Lovecraft's prose pieces, beginning with "Dagon;" and of this story he wrote us, in part:

In a way, "Dagon" is a radically different sort of story, even for WEIRD TALES, and those that will follow it are even more so. For this reason, we shall be particularly interested in hearing what our readers think of the Lovecraft tales.