Читать книгу The Star-Treader, and other poems - Clark Ashton Smith - Страница 14

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As drear and barren as the glooms of Death,

It lies, a windless land of livid dawns,

Nude to a desolate firmament, with hills

That seem the fleshless earth's outjutting ribs,

And plains whose face is crossed and rivelled deep

With gullies twisting like a serpent's track.

The leprous touch of Death is on its stones,

Where for his token visible, the Head

Is throned upon a heap of monstrous rocks,

Grotesque in everlasting ugliness,

Within a hill-ravine, that splits athwart

Like some old, hideous and unhealing scar.

Her lethal beauty crowned with twining snakes

That mingle with her hair, the Gorgon reigns.

Her eyes are clouds wherein Death's lightnings lurk,

Yet, even as men that seek the glance of Life,

The gazers come, where, coiled and serpent-swift,

Those levins wait. As 'round an altar-base

Her victims lie, distorted, blackened forms

Of postured horror smitten into stone,—

Time caught in meshes of Eternity—

Drawn back from dust and ruin of the years,

And given to all the future of the world.

The land is claimed of Death: the daylight comes

Half-strangled in the changing webs of cloud

That unseen spiders of bewildered winds

Weave and unweave across the lurid sun

In upper air. Below, no zephyr comes

To break with life the circling spell of death.

Long vapor-serpents twist about the moon,

And in the windy murkness of the sky,

The guttering stars are wild as candle-flames

That near the socket.

Thus the land shall be,

And Death shall wait, throned in Medusa's eyes.

Till, in the irremeable webs of night

The sun is snared, and the corroded moon

A dust upon the gulfs, and all the stars

Rotted and fall'n like rivets from the sky,

Letting the darkness down upon all things.