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C
Clark Ashton Smith
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Upon woven clouds, as on thy glowing hair,
The sunset dreams and dies in sombre, sullen gold -
In unforgotten flame that makes my soul despair:
I weep tonight, because the failing light is fair
Upon the woven clouds of sombre, sullen gold.
Thy feet were wont to pass at evening on the flow'rs -
Rapid, and beautiful, and fugitive as rain...
O! gardens that thy feet may never find again!
Ever my heart must fail, when on the trodden flow'rs,
Returns at summer eve the silver-footed rain.
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