Antepast Poem by Clark Ashton Smith
Antepast
The thought of death to me
Is like a well in some oasis dim—
Cool-gleaming, hushed, and hidden gratefully
Among the palms asleep
At silver evening on the desert's rim.
Or as a couch of stone,
Whereon, by moonlight, in a marble room,
Some fevered king reposes all alone—
So is the hope of sleep,
The inalienable surety of the tomb.
Monday, January 13, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: silver
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8/13/2026 6:39:52 PM # rel_20260811T123139Z_a98d49b
