Sepulture

by Clark Ashton Smith


	Deep in my heart, as in the hollow stone
	And silence of some olden sepulcher,
	Thy silver beauty lies, and shall not stir--
	Forgotten, incorruptible, alone:

	Though altars darken, and a wind be blown
	From starless seas on beacon-fires that were--
	Within thy tomb, with oils of balm and myrrh,
	For ever burn the onyx lamps unknown.

	And though the bleak Novembral gardens yield
	Rose-dust and ivy-leaf, nor any flower
	Be found through vermeil forest or wan field--
	Still, still the asphodel and lotos lie
	Around thy bed, and hour by silent hour,
	Exhale immortal fragrance like a sigh.