THE FUNGI FROM YUGGOTH, by H.P.Lovecraft
SONNET 27: The Elder Pharos
From Leng, where rocky peaks climb bleak and bare
They say (though none has been there) that it comes
The Thing, they whisper, wears a silken mask
Many, in man's first youth, sought out that glow,
Under cold stars obscure to human sight,
There shoots at dusk a single beam of light
Whose far blue rays make shepherds whine in prayer.
Out of a pharos in a tower of stone,
Where the last Elder One lives on alone,
Talking to Chaos with the beat of drums.
Of yellow, whose queer folds appear to hide
A face not of this earth, though none dares ask
Just what those features are, which bulge inside.
But what they found, no one will ever know.