DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Fantasy Fan, v. 1, issue 7, March 1934

Transcribe
Translate

Fantasy Fan, v. 1, issue 7, March 1934

Page 106

106					THE FANTASY FAN    March, 1934


R E V E N A N T
by Clark Ashton Smith

I am the specter who returns
Unto some desolate world in ruin borne afar
On the black flowing of Lethean skies:
Ever I search, in cryptic galleries,
The void sarcophagi, the broken urns
Of many a vanished avatar:
Or haunt the gloom of grumbling pylons vast
In temples that enshrine the shadowy past.
Viewless, impalpable and fleet,
I roam stupendous avenues, and greet
Familiar sphinxes carved from everlasting stone,
Or the fair, brittle gods of long ago,
Decayed and fallen low.
And there I mark the tall clepsammiae
That time has overthrown,
And empty clepsydrae,
And dials drowned in umbrage never-lifting;
And there, on rusty parapegms,
I read the ephemerides
Of antique stars and elder planets drifting
Oblivionward in night.
And there, with purples of the tomb bedight,
And crowned with funeral gems,
I hold awhile the throne
Whereon mine immemorial selves have sate,
Canopied by the triple-tinted glory
Of the three suns forever paled and flow.

I am the specter who returns
And swells content with his forlorn estate
In mansions lost and hoary
Where no lamp burns;
Who feasts within the sepulcher,
And finds the ancient shadows lovelier
Than gardens all emblazed with sevenfold noon,
Or topaz-builded towers
That throng below some iris-pouring moon.
Exiled and homeless in the younger stars,
Henceforth I shall inhabit that grey clime
Whose days belong to primal calendars;

Saving...

106 THE FANTASY FAN March, 1934 R E V E N A N T by Clark Ashton Smith I am the specter who returns Unto some desolate world in ruin borne afar On the black flowing of Lethean skies: Ever I search, in cryptic galleries, The void sarcophagi, the broken urns Of many a vanished avatar: Or haunt the gloom of grumbling pylons vast In temples that enshrine the shadowy past. Viewless, impalpable and fleet, I roam stupendous avenues, and greet Familiar sphinxes carved from everlasting stone, Or the fair, brittle gods of long ago, Decayed and fallen low. And there I mark the tall clepsammiae That time has overthrown, And empty clepsydrae, And dials drowned in umbrage never-lifting; And there, on rusty parapegms, I read the ephemerides Of antique stars and elder planets drifting Oblivionward in night. And there, with purples of the tomb bedight, And crowned with funeral gems, I hold awhile the throne Whereon mine immemorial selves have sate, Canopied by the triple-tinted glory Of the three suns forever paled and flow. I am the specter who returns And swells content with his forlorn estate In mansions lost and hoary Where no lamp burns; Who feasts within the sepulcher, And finds the ancient shadows lovelier Than gardens all emblazed with sevenfold noon, Or topaz-builded towers That throng below some iris-pouring moon. Exiled and homeless in the younger stars, Henceforth I shall inhabit that grey clime Whose days belong to primal calendars;