A Dream of Lethe

by Clark Ashton Smith


In the quest of her whom I had lost, I came at length to the shores of Lethe,
under the vault of an immense, empty, ebon sky, from which all the stars had
vanished one by one. Proceeding I knew not whence, a pale, elusive light as of
the waning moon, or the phantasmal phosphorescence of a dead sun, lay dimly and
without lustre on the sable stream, and on the black, flowerless meadows. By
this light, I saw many wandering souls of men and women, who came, hesitantly or
in haste, to drink of the slow unmurmuring waters. But among all these, there
were none who departed in haste, and many who stayed to watch, with unseeing
eyes, the calm and waveless movement of the stream. At length in the lily-tall
and gracile form, and the still, uplifted face of a woman who stood apart from
the rest, I saw the one whom I had sought; and, hastening to her side, with a
heart wherein old memories sang like a nest of nightingales, was fain to take
her by the hand. But in the pale, immutable eyes, and wan, unmoving lips that
were raised to mine, I saw no light of memory, nor any tremor of recognition.
And knowing now that she had forgotten, I turned away despairingly, and finding
the river at my side, was suddenly aware of my ancient thirst for its waters, a
thirst I had once thought to satisfy at many diverse springs, but in vain.
Stooping hastily, I drank, and rising again, perceived that the light had died
or disappeared, and that all the land was like the land of a dreamless slumber,
wherein I could no longer distinguish the faces of my companions. Nor was I able
to remember any longer why I wished to drink of the waters of oblivion.