by Clark Ashton Smith
Upon the seas of Saturn I have sailed
To isles of high primeval amarant,
Where the flame-tongued, sonorous flowers enchant
The hanging surf to silence; all engrailed
With ruby-colored pearls, the golden shore
Allured me; but as one whom spells restrain,
For blind horizons of the somber main
And harbors never known, my singing prore
I set forthrightly. Formed of fire and brass,
And arched with moons, immenser heavens deep
Were opened—till above the darkling foam,
With dome on cloudless adamantine dome,
Black peaks no peering seraph deems to pass
Rose up from realms ineffable as sleep!
'Prore' is a rare word for the prow of a ship.