Clark Ashton Smith

Knowing the weariness of dreams, and days, and night,

The great and grievous vanity of joy and pain;

Frail loves that pass, where languors infinite remain,

Fervors and long despairs and desperate, brief delights;

Knowing how in the witless brains of them that were,

The drowsy, wiving worm hath prospered and hath died;

Knowing that, evermore, by moon and sun abide

The standing glooms made stagnant in the sepulcher;

Knowing the vacillant leaves that tremble and fall,

The sweetly-wasting rose, the dawns and stars that wane

Knowing these things, the desolate heart and soul are fain

Of the one perfect sleep which filleth, foldeth all.

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