Читать книгу The Star-Treader, and other poems - Clark Ashton Smith - Страница 9

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Thus knew I those anterior ones

Whose lives in mine were blent;

Till, lo! my dream, that held a night

Where Rigel sends no word of might,

Was emptied of the trodden stars,

And dwindled to the sun's extent—

The brain's familiar prison-bars,

And raiment of the sorrow and the mirth

Wrought by the shuttles intricate of earth.