Clark Ashton Smith

(From José-Maria De Heredia)

The temple's ruin crowns the promontory.
Close-shrouded with the root-enwoven sod,
The marble goddess, the bronze demigod,
Mingle their broken and their tarnished glory.

Sometimes a lonely herdsman, going past
With horn that sobs some plangent old refrain,
Filling the air and the calm seas again,
Arises darkly on the clear blue vast.

Mother of gods, the mellowing earth will teem,
And all the vain sweet eloquence of spring
A fresh acanthus for the column bring;

But man, oblivious of his fathers' dream,
Untrembling hears the Nereusean moan
Of ocean grieving for the sirens flown.

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