The world upheld their pillars for awhile:
Now, where imperial On and Carthage stood,
The hot wind sifts across the solitude
The sand that once was wall and peristyle;
Or furrows like the main each tawny mile
Where, ocean-deep above its ancient food
Of cities fame-forgot, the waste is nude,
Traceless as billows of each sunken pile.
Lo! for that wrong shall vengeance come at last,
When the devouring earth, in ruin one
With royal walls and palaces undone,
In dust far-blown from the orbit of the past,
Shall drift, and winds that wrangle through the vast
Immingle it with ashes of the sun.
The Balance
Clark Ashton Smith
(2)
Poem topics: food, ocean, solitude, sun, wind, world, earth, deep, wall, wrong, ancient, dust, waste, imperial, main, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
Write your comment about The Balance poem by Clark Ashton Smith
Best Poems of Clark Ashton Smith