Clark Ashton Smith

“ Without lowering the voice, without raising it, without ever taking new breath, it yells, it shrieks, it screams through the jungle.
"It is the mask of Madhu, the Demon, the old, old, colossal mask, carved in stone, half swallowed by the swamps, the mask of Madhu, The Mad, shimmering white, staring with empty eyes out of the pools, out of the lonely, gurgling, rotting, ever murmuring pools," the monks rouned to each other. ”

“ Not, O hermits, is it that Madhu, whose face is carved in the rock, who screams through the night — How, you hermits, could it be Madhu? And not is that plaintive cry silenced during the day — How, you hermits, could that plaintive cry be silenced during the day?? When night falls, the winds awaken in the swamps and blow through the wilderness towards the cloister and carry the scream to your ears. ”

“ Deeper, even deeper, he plunged into meditation, and it seemed as if his heartbeat had stopped, as if the ebbing and flowing of his breath had left him forever.
The grass of the swamps turned brown and withered. Autumn came and called home the flowers. ”