Clark Ashton Smith Poems

Esta memoria vuelve todavía
de un jardín de amaranto más retinto:
los lagos del ocaso, colorando
mi desvarío como un vino tinto;
...

Methought upon the tomb-encumbered shore
I stood of Egypt's lone monarchal stream,
And saw immortal Memnon, throned supreme
In gloom as of that Memphian night of yore:
...

Marked by the priesthood of the Night's misrule,
The shadow-cowled, imprecatory trees—
Cypress that guarded woodland secrecies
And graves that waited for the delaying ghoul,
...

When all the splendour wanes
Like a slow sunset from the changeful leaves,
And the grey time of rains
With hooded dawns and eves
...

Like a worm-fretted visage from the tomb,
The moon unswathes her hollow, shrunken head,
Launching such light as foulders on the dead
From pallid skies more death-like than the gloom.
...

I may not mask for ever with the grace
Of woven flowers thine eyes of staring stone:
Ere the lithe adders and the garlands blown,
Parting their tangle, have disclosed thy face
...

As drear and barren as the glooms of Death,
It lies, a windless land of livid dawns,
Nude to a desolate firmament, with hills
That seem the gibbous bones of the mummied Earth,
...

Rappelelez-vous l'étang dont l'eau nous attirait
Dans des hereux matins,
Voyez-vous noire étang, ceint des buissons alpins,
Où des mignonnes fleurs la blancheur se mirait
...

Deem ye the veiling vision will abide—
The marvel, and the glamor, and the dream
Which lies in light upon the barren world ? . . .
...

The glories and the perils of thy day
Are one, O Man ! Thou goest to thine end
With Powers, and for a little thou dost wend
With marshalled Majesties upon their way:
...