There is in certain ancient things a trace

Of some dim essence—more than form or weight;

A tenuous aether, indeterminate,

Yet linked with all the laws of time and space.

A faint, veiled sign of continuities

That outward eyes can never quite descry;

Of locked dimensions harbouring years gone by,

And out of reach except for hidden keys.

  

It moves me most when slanting sunbeams glow

On old farm buildings set against a hill,

And paint with life the shapes which linger still

From centuries less a dream than this we know.

In that strange light I feel I am not far

From the fixt mass whose sides the ages are.

The 36th and final sonnet of Lovecraft's massive poem, Fungi from Yuggoth. This piece is called "Continuity" and might be my favorite piece of verse right now. The final couplet gives me chills.