Clark Ashton Smith
Clark Ashton Smith (January 13, 1893 – August 14, 1961) was a self-educated American poet, sculptor, painter and author of fantasy, horror and science fiction short stories. He achieved early local recognition, largely through the enthusiasm of George Sterling, for traditional verse in the vein of Swinburne. As a poet, Smith is grouped with the West Coast Romantics alongside Ambrose Bierce, Joaquin Miller, Sterling, Nora May French, and remembered as "The Last of the Great Romantics" and "The Bard of Auburn".
Smith was one of "the big three of Weird Tales, along with Robert E. Howard and H. P. Lovecraft", where some readers objected to his morbidness ... more »
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Clark Ashton Smith Poems
To The Sun
Thy light is an eminence unto thee And thou art upheld by the pillars of thy strength. Thy power is a foundation for the worlds: They are builded thereon as upon a lofty rock
In Averoigne the enchantress weaves Weird spells that call a changeling sun, Or hale the moon of Hecate Down to the ivy-hooded towers.
Now were the Titans gathered round their king In a waste region slipping toward the verge Of drear extremities that clasp the world— A land half-moulded by the hasty gods,
Dearest, today I found A lonely spot, such as we two have loved, Where two might lie upon Favonian ground Peering to faint horizons far-removed:
O perfect love, unhoped-for, past despair! I had not thought to find Your face betwixt the terrene earth and air: But deemed you lost in fabulous old lands
The Hashish Eater -Or- The Apocalypse Of...
Bow down: I am the emperor of dreams; I crown me with the million-colored sun Of secret worlds incredible, and take Their trailing skies for vestment when I soar,
A Dead City
Twilight ascends the abandoned ramps of noon Within an ancient land, whose after-time Unfathomably shadows its ruined prime. Like rising mist the night increases soon
By what digit of the moon Shall I question, late or soon, Your shoal-green eyes?
Perseus And Medusa
I met her mirrored stare: The cycles of stone glories Locked in the Gorgon's glare.
Walled with far azures of the wintering year, Late autumn on a windless altar burns; Splendid as rubies from Sabean urns, A holocaust of hues is gathered here.
Berries Of The Deadly Nightshade
Black are the berries Laden with slumber Of nights that have no number.
Sweet Lesbia,when our love is done, Leave no reproachful shade or blot, No least reproof, on all or aught That made us twain, that made us one.
The Dark Chateau
The mysteries of your former dust, Your lives declined from solar light— These would you know, or these surmise? Beneath a swathed and mummied sun,
The Maze Of Sleep
Sleep is a pathless labyrinth, Dark to the gaze of moons and suns, Through which the exile clue of dreams, A gossamer thread, obscurely runs.
Comments about Clark Ashton Smith
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
To The Sun
Thy light is an eminence unto thee
And thou art upheld by the pillars of thy strength.
Thy power is a foundation for the worlds:
They are builded thereon as upon a lofty rock
Whereto no enemy hath access.
Thou puttest forth thy rays, and they hold the sky
As in the hollow of an immense hand.
Thou erectest thy light as four walls
And a roof with many beams and pillars.
Thy flame is a stronghold based as a mountain:
Its bastions are tall, and firm like stone.
The worlds are bound with the ropes of thy will,
Like steeds are they stayed and constrained