Crepuscule

Clark Ashton Smith

The sunset-gonfalons are furled
On plains of evening, broad and pale,
And woven athwart the waning world
The air is like a silver veil.

Into the thin and trembling gloom,
That holds a hueless warp of light,
The murmuring wind on a slow loom
Weaves the rich purples of the night.

Printed from: www.eldritchdark.com/writings/poetry/104
Printed on: November 18, 2017