Clark Ashton Smith

Life is a tale half told,
Love is a broken song;
Beauty, besought so long
Is a legend lost and old.
Winter and silence and woe
Have come, like the end of all:
Slowly the last leaves fall
At sunset over the snow.
Here, on the darkening wold,
In the bleak wind blown from space,
I recall thy fugitive grace,
And sigh for thy hair's lost gold.

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