Clark Ashton Smith

Once, I could find you in my dreams;
Your swaying breasts were apples bright
In somber sinful crofts of night;
You were the laughter-footed sprite
Who led me on by waning streams,
You were the nymph who called my name
From fountains of forlorn extremes.
But still, however far and fast
You lied, our lips would meet at last
In vales eloigned from time and shame.

Alas! I cannot find you now:
From alp to phantom alp in sleep
A phantom light they cannot keep
Goes outward to the oblivious deep,
And fades from my pursuing brow.
Lost in a wood of shadowy leaf,
Vain laughter dies, I know not how—
Remote, alone and unredeemed;
And I forget the dream I dreamed,
And sadden with evasive grief.

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