Antepast

Clark Ashton Smith

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.

Printed from: www.eldritchdark.com/writings/poetry/26
Printed on: November 25, 2017