Enigma

Clark Ashton Smith

Across thy face a glimmer passes—
Wrought by what far and hidden flame?
Say, is it loveliness, or love,
Or light of sunken moons remembered
From gardens none shall name?

There is a secret shadow clinging
Closely between thy lips of red:
Is it the grief of new desire?
Or half-forgotten darkness lulling
Sorrowful loves long dead?

Printed from: www.eldritchdark.com/writings/poetry/158
Printed on: November 19, 2017