Then a great cry, as of one who suddenly sees a black phantom, rang out
loud in the room, jarring my brain with the madness of its terror, and
striking as with a hundred passionate hands on all the hidden harps in
wall and roof; and the troubled sounds came back to me, now loud and now
low, burdened with an infinite anguish and despair, as of voices of
innumerable multitudes wandering in the sunless desolations of space,
every voice reverberating anguish and despair; and the successive
reverberations lifted me like waves and dropped me again, and the waves
grew less and the sounds fainter, then fainter still, and died in
everlasting silence.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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