by Clark Ashton Smith
In silence now the purpling summer passes,
The swallows fly;
The failing river scantly glasses,
Where amber twilights wane,
Our dreaming kiss above the flow'rs that die...
Will love at last remain?
Ever I pray to find
(Though all the heav'ns be blind!)
The gold of love and summer in thy hair;
And breathe between thy shadowy breasts again,
In eves of autumn wind,
All flowers that failed upon a windless air.