Clark Ashton Smith
Ah, suffer that my song
To thee alone belong:
No dearer happiness my heart would choose
Than thus to cast, O sweet,
Each measured scroll before thy perfect feet,
Having no other muse.
O wistful love! how well
All that my lips would tell,
All that the lyre's revibrant strings attest,
Was writ upon thy breast
With kisses keen and slow . . .
So long, so long ago.
What tears are confluent
From springs and summers spent,
Feeding the fount of this our Helicon;
And wine forlornly poured,
Or spilt for thee, O maenad most adored,
In feasts of moon or sun.
Let now some interval
Of lyric silence fall;
Like heavy garlands let thy hair be shed
About by brow and head,
While songs unsung and sweet
Within our pulses beat.
Clark Ashton Smith's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Erato by Clark Ashton Smith )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- The Directory of Unpublished Poets, mary douglas
- You Cannot See, Breanna Elwin
- The Rose Tender, Ravi Joshi
- The Fish, Bhaskar Rabha
- सिमांखौ गोसोखांनानै, Bahadur Basumatary
- Lights, Camera, Action, Sandra Feldman
- Turned Onto Suicidal Paths, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- The Last Page, Bhaskar Rabha
- Peace, SALINI NAIR
- With a glance on Cuito Cuanavale, Gert Strydom