The Secret

Clark Ashton Smith

Like a word
Of an archetypal tongue,
Never told,
Never sung;

All unstirred,
Like the corals of the deep
In their cold
and purple sleep;

Lost and far,
Like a forest-folded bloom
Lulled above
Its own perfume;

Like a star
In the nether darkness drowned,
Lies the love
We have not found.

Printed from: www.eldritchdark.com/writings/poetry/489
Printed on: November 24, 2017