For An Antique Lyre
C
Clark Ashton Smith
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Still wanting you, perchance
How vainly love had waited,
An autumn faun belated
For whom the leaves like spectral dryads dance.
And time perhaps had run
A somber, songless river
Whence no nymph rises ever
With limbs that flash to lotus in the sun.
And happiness had been
A siren singing only
On shores unsought and lonely
Where Vesper falls to some untraveled visne.
And joy had tarried still,
A sleeping Venus hidden
In sunless halls forbidden
Within her undiscovered hollow hill.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş