When I lay dead in Thessaly,
The land was rife with sorcery:
Fair witches howled to Hecate,
Pouring the blood of rams by night
With many a necromantic rite
To draw me back for their delight....
But I lay dead in Thessaly
With ah my lust and wizardry:
Somewhere the Golden Ass went by
To munch the rose and find again
The shape and manlihead of men:
But in my grave I stirred not then,
And the black lote in Thessaly
Its juices dripped unceasingly
Above the rotting mouth of me;
And Worm and mould and graveyard must
And roots of cypress, darkly thrust,
Transformed the dead to utter dust.
In Thessaly
Clark Ashton Smith
(1)
Poem topics: lust, night, rose, mouth, delight, shape, grave, black, dust, golden, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
Write your comment about In Thessaly poem by Clark Ashton Smith
Best Poems of Clark Ashton Smith