Clark Ashton Smith Poems

Upon the seas of Saturn I have sailed
To isles of high primeval amarant,
Where the flame-tongued, sonorous flowers enchant
The hanging surf to silence; all engrailed
...

This is enchanted ground
Whereto the nymphs are bound;
Where the hoar oaks maintain,
While seasons mount or wane,
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The season brings but little gold,
And only rusty gules and sanguines dull
To these rude hills with darkling lava cored
And with thick, sombre rocks embossed
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All drear and barren seemed the hours,
That passed rain-swept and tempest-blown.
The dead leaves fell like brownish notes
Within the rain's grey monotone.
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Glossy-backed, the crows
Ward the garden-rows:
One turns to watch the farmer.
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It lies beyond the farthest sea,
This castle whereonto I flee
When life and time hang wearily.
Yet though so far, 'tis strangely nigh:
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Hath Sound alone a voice? Nay, 'tis not so:
Silence can speak unto the inner ear,
If it be finely tuned and keyed to hear-
A meaning-laden message, soft and low.
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Who has seen the towers of Amithaine
Swan-throated rising from the main
Whose tides to some remoter moon
Flow in a fadeless afternoon?...
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Alas! the evanescence of a dream,
That, like a rose, shall never blossom more!
A glimpse of unguessed things, and then the door
Of waking sense clangs to. Alas! the Gleam,
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O sapphire lake amid autumnal mountains,
With fire of aspens round about you burning,
I would my love and I were now returning,
Perchance to leave you never—
...