Dark loom the ghauts against the stream and sky;
The smoke doth rise and wind in columns grey;
Red flare the flames of fagots, leaping high,
Then smoulder down, as dies the darkling day.
Now wendeth a procession, mournful, slow,
Sharp-lined athwart the sun that sets in red;
Upon the pyre they lay the Rajah low,
Impassive, mute - this is his final bed.
Swift leap the crimson flames above the pyre,
As shades of India's night are falling fast;
On high they leap - then sinks the fagot fire,
And dieth slow. All things must end at last.
The Burning-ghauts At Benares
Clark Ashton Smith
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Poem topics: dark, fire, night, sky, sun, wind, rise, fast, sharp, final, india, swift, Valentine's Day, stream, crimson, red, high, slow, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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