Thebaid

by Clark Ashton Smith


	Here is the solitude
	Unknown to Stylites or Anthony;
	A place of bleak illumination
	Clean-stripped of clouds and dust,
	Ultimate as the apogean moon;
	Where codes and cults, philosophies and gods
	Thin out and varnish on the waste and vast
	Like smoke of fires gone cold
	In nomad camps deserted yesterday.

	Here is the infinite unveiled
	In visions not of evil or of good;
	And the night looks down on us
	With only suns for eyes;
	And knowledge is our delirium,
	The bringer of new appearances,
	The breeder of new apparitions.

	What shall we do
	For whom the heavens are throneless, and there is
	No demon prince to supplicate and serve?
	Shall we pray for succor to the rocks
	Or beg the sea for aid?
	The breath of prayer, the windiness of imploration,
	Puffs not against the gale
	Nor blows with it in power and violence
	Beyond the failing of the owlet's cry.