Premier pluperfect passages of purple prose

The following purported quote from the Necronomicon is from H.P. Lovecraft’s short story “The Festival.” It is tacked on at the end of the story and relates only tangentially to the action, if “action” it can be called (the story is mostly atmosphere). Nevertheless, it is more blood-chilling than anything that has come before, and is IMO the quintessential invocation of HPL’s fantastic world-view:

What are your faves?