Clark Ashton Smith


 Next Poem          

Sweet Lesbia,when our love is done,
Leave no reproachful shade or blot,
No least reproof, on all or aught
That made us twain, that made us one.

Say only, love has lived his hour
Blameless as any rose's bloom:
And faultless now his fated doom
As is the dying of the flower.

Next Poem 

 Back to Clark Ashton Smith