Poem by Clark Ashton Smith (1893-1961)

The Summer Moon


How is it, O moon, that melting,
Unstintedly, prodigally,
On the peaks' hard majesty,
Till they seem diaphanous
And fluctuant as a veil,
And pouring thy rapturous light
Through pine, and oak, and laurel,
Till the summer-sharpened green,
Softening and tremulous,
Is a lustrous miracle -
How is it that I find,
When I turn again to thee,
That thy lost and wasted light
Is regained in one magic breath?



More information on Clark Ashton Smith

Poetry by Editorial Team The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 241 times
Written on 2022-09-05 at 00:00

Tags American 

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text

Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
The word 'magic' in the final line, is the adjective that comes to mind for me. The romantic age.....