Poplars

Clark Ashton Smith

Against the pale autumnal air,
The golden poplars burn and flare.

And golden lamps are lit for me,
Deep in the vaults of memory.

Forevermore the poplars rise,
To light the lands where beauty dies,

Where roses fail and asters fade,
And lilies in the dust are laid.

And in my heart the lamps illume
A queenly couch of love and doom,

And one who lies in silence there,
Forever dead, forever fair,
With leaves and asters in her hair.

Printed from: www.eldritchdark.com/writings/poetry/440
Printed on: November 20, 2017