One day, when summer suns were kind,
I walked within my soul's domain,
Where inner summer held its reign,
And heard a voice, like some small wind
That wakes a breath, then sleeps again.
It said: 'I come as messenger
From garths of dream whose flowers blow
Where clouds go by and waters flow
Secret from thee; and breezes stir
Whose birth or death thou dost not know.
If thou wouldst have their faery blooms,
Send forth a thought to pluck them there
Most speedily: for, being more fair
Than earthly flow'rs, and with perfumes
No sun-conceived blossoms hear,
Fleeter than these, their hues are lost,
Their fragrance as a spirit fled.'
Then, like a wind, the voice was dead.
In other flow'rs of dream engrossed,
I left those dreams unharvested;
Until, bethinking me of them,
I sent a thought in bloomless hours:
Returning soon, it said, 'The flow'rs
Are vanished from each withered stem -
A harvest of the winds and show'rs.'
The Garden Of Dreams
Clark Ashton Smith
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Poem topics: birth, breath, death, lost, sun, soul, small, hear, spirit, secret, Valentine's Day, dream, summer, wind, voice, thought, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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