The Modern World Isn't Getting Out of This Alive
And all that the morn shall greet forlorn,
The ugliness and the pest
Of rows where thick rise the stones and brick,
Shall some day be with the rest,
And brood with the shades unblest.
This stanza contains one of the poem's bleakest ideas.
Lovecraft turns his attention toward the modern landscape itself—the rows of stones and brick that represent the human world.
And he makes it clear that this world isn't permanent.
Eventually, everything we build will become part of the same landscape of death.
That idea is especially effective because it doesn't require a monster.
No vampire needs to attack anybody.
No ghoul needs to climb out of a grave.
No ancient god needs to awaken.
Time itself is enough.
Buildings decay.
Civilizations disappear.
People die.
Eventually, the things humans construct become ruins, just like everything else.
It's the sort of thought that makes you look at your house and wonder how long it would take nature to reclaim it.
Probably best not to think about that while you're trying to sleep.
