Dead Love

Clark Ashton Smith

Is it a dream, is it a memory -
That, underneath some warmer moon of yore,
We dreamt of love, we dreamt forevermore
To make of Love our immortality?

Alas, alas! for all the moons of old,
And all the golden suns are blind with gloom...
To thee, alone in some forgotten tomb,
The worm, with clinging kisses wan and cold.

Mocking my love, came long ago, thine eyes,
That were the mirrors of mine own desire,
Hold everlasting darkness; life and lust

Are shadows, in the lonely night that lies
Mute on thy lips, and Love's triumphant fire
Is one for me with thy forgotten dust.

Printed from: www.eldritchdark.com/writings/poetry/116
Printed on: November 21, 2017