Atlantis by: Clark Ashton Smith (1893-1961) Above its domes the gulfs accumulate. Far up, the sea-gales blare their bitter screed: But here the buried waters take no heed— Deaf, and with welded lips pressed down by weight Of the upper ocean. Dim, interminate, In cities over-webbed with somber weed, Where galleons crumble and the krakens breed, The slow tide coils through sunken court and gate.
From out the ocean's phosphor-starry dome, A ghostly light is dubitably shed On altars of a goddess garlanded With blossoms of some weird and hueless vine; And, wingéd, fleet, through skies beneath the foam, Like silent birds the sea-things dart and shine.
Atlantis
ReplyDeleteby: Clark Ashton Smith (1893-1961)
Above its domes the gulfs accumulate.
Far up, the sea-gales blare their bitter screed:
But here the buried waters take no heed—
Deaf, and with welded lips pressed down by weight
Of the upper ocean. Dim, interminate,
In cities over-webbed with somber weed,
Where galleons crumble and the krakens breed,
The slow tide coils through sunken court and gate.
From out the ocean's phosphor-starry dome,
A ghostly light is dubitably shed
On altars of a goddess garlanded
With blossoms of some weird and hueless vine;
And, wingéd, fleet, through skies beneath the foam,
Like silent birds the sea-things dart and shine.