Nocturne

Clark Ashton Smith

A silver sleep is on the vale;
The breathless pines are pale,
Where quiet shadows dream
By some departing stream.

With hands fantastical and still,
Upon the windless hill,
One cypress fain would hold
The moon of faded gold.

Printed from: www.eldritchdark.com/writings/poetry/379
Printed on: November 20, 2017