Vaticinations

Clark Ashton Smith

I heard the leaves of the willow whisper
As they fell at morn on the gusty mere:
"You shall he torn and blown as we are,
In a wind that bears the crumbling year."

I heard the boulders murmur mutely
In the noontide sun on the windless hill:
"Sometime you shall be calm as we are
And as tranquil and as still."

Printed from: www.eldritchdark.com/writings/poetry/627
Printed on: November 23, 2017