Clark Ashton Smith Poems

By what digit of the moon
Shall I question, late or soon,
Your shoal-green eyes?
...

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
...

I saw a shape with human form and face,
If such should in apotheosis stand:
Deep in the shadows of a desolate land
His burning feet obtained colossal base,
...

To look on love with disenamored eyes;
To see with gaze relentless, rendered clear
Of hope or hatred, of desire and fear,
The insuperable nullity that lies
...

A voice cried to me in a dawn of dreams,
Saying, 'Make haste: the webs of death and birth
Are brushed away, and all the threads of earth
Wear to the breaking; spaceward gleams
...

At the storm's decline,
A vulture seeks its nest
In the bolt-cloven pine.
...

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.
...

Close above the snow-scene,
Blue, purple, yellow-green
Clouds ring the moon.
...

The old constraint of an essential bond
Hath linkt them in my mind: opposed they stare,
Twin silences, that through Time's Otherwhere,
The ruinous past, thus each to each respond,
...