The Sorceror to his Love

Clark Ashton Smith

Within your arms I will forget
The horror that Zimimar brings
Between his vast and vampire wings
From out his frozen oubliette.

The terror born of ultimate space
That gnaws with icy fang and fell,
The sucklings of the hag of hell,
Shall flee the enchantment of your face.

Ah, more than all my wizard art
The circle our delight has drawn:
What evil phantoms thence have gone,
What dreadful presences depart!

Your arms are white, your arms are warm
To hold me from the haunted air,
And you alone are firm and fair
Amid the darkly whirling storm.

Printed from: www.eldritchdark.com/writings/poetry/536
Printed on: November 19, 2017