Lament for Vixeela

Clark Ashton Smith

Thy name, an invocation, calls to light
Dead moons, and draws from overdated night
The rosy-bosomed spectre of delight.
Like some delaying sunset, brave with gold,
The glamors and the perils shared of old
Outsoar the shrunken empire of the mould.

[c. 1953-54]

Printed from: www.eldritchdark.com/writings/poetry/277
Printed on: November 23, 2017