Lethe

deep in the windless gloom the lamplike thought of you abides and ah what burning memories pursue my heart among the pallid marbles night assigns your silver face for wardress of the doors of sleep beyond the wild last born of dreamland your eyes are on the lonesome ultimate undiscovered skies moonlike and dim you wander ever in the deep which is the secret, innermost, unknown abyss of my own soul, and in its night your spirit lives.

Shall I not find the very draft that Lethe gives, sweet with your tears, and warm with savour of your kiss?

the hidden paradise our passion is a secret paradise eden of lotus and the fruitful date with silence walled and held undesecrate by man or prying seraph we are wise as any god and goddess who have wrung from roseal fruitage of a bough forbidden the happy wine we drink we drink unchidden deep in the vales where vernal leaves are young and the first poppies Though the breath of all the gods a bolted storm prepare, And blood-red gloom of thunders blind the sun, Shall we not turn with clinging kisses there, And laughing quaff some dreamless wine of death, Triumphant still in mere oblivion? Cleopatra from Ebony and Crystal by Clark Ashton Smith.

Read for LibriVox.org by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio.

Thine eyes are green and still as the lakes of the desert.

They awake in me the thirst for strange and bitter mysteries, the desire of secrets that are deadly and sterile.

A Dream of Lethe In the quest of her whom I had lost, I came at length to the shores of Lethe, under the vault of an immense empty ebon sky, from which all the stars had vanished one by one.

proceeding i knew not whence a pale illusive light as of the waning moon or the phantasmal phosphorescence of a dead sun lay dimly and without lustre on the sable stream and on the black flowerless meadows by this light i saw many wandering souls of men and women who came hesitantly or in haste to drink of the slow unmurmuring waters but among all these there were none who departed in haste and many who stayed to watch with unseeing eyes the calm and waveless movement of the stream at length in the lily tall and gracile form and the still uplifted face of a woman who stood apart from the rest i saw the one whom i had sought and hastening to her side with a heart wherein old memories sang like a nest of nightingales was fain to take her by the hand but in the pale immutable eyes and wan unmoving lips that were raised to mine i saw no light of memory nor any tremor of recognition and knowing now that she had forgotten i turned away despairingly and finding the river at my side was suddenly aware of my ancient thirst for its waters a thirst i had once thought to satisfy at many divers springs but in vain Stooping hastily, I drank, and, rising again, perceived that the light had died or disappeared, that all the land was like the land of a dreamless slumber, wherein I could no longer distinguish the faces of my companions, nor was I able to remember any longer why I had wished to drink of the waters of oblivion.

Haunting There is no peace amid the moonlight and the pines, deep in the windless gloom the lamplike thought of you abides and ah what burning memories pursue my heart among the pallid marbles night assigns your silver face for wardress of the doors of sleep beyond the wild last born of dreamland your eyes are on the lonesome ultimate undiscovered skies moonlike and dim You wander ever in the deep, which is the secret, innermost, unknown abyss of my own soul, and in its night your spirit lives.

Shall I not find the very draft that Lethe gives, sweet with your tears and warm with savor of your kiss?

Welcome to Planet Fitness, a.k.a.

Planet Strength.

Thine eyes are green and still as the lakes of the desert.

They awake in me the thirst for strange and bitter mysteries, the desire of secrets that are deadly and sterile.

A Dream of Lethe In the quest of her whom I had lost, I came at length to the shores of Lethe, under the vault of an immense empty ebon sky, from which all the stars had vanished one by one.

proceeding i knew not whence a pale illusive light as of the waning moon or the phantasmal phosphorescence of a dead sun lay dimly and without lustre on the sable stream and on the black flowerless meadows by this light i saw many wandering souls of men and women who came hesitantly or in haste to drink of the slow unmurmuring waters but among all these there were none who departed in haste and many who stayed to watch with unseeing eyes the calm and waveless movement of the stream at length in the lily tall and gracile form and the still uplifted face of a woman who stood apart from the rest i saw the one whom i had sought and hastening to her side with a heart wherein old memories sang like a nest of nightingales was fain to take her by the hand but in the pale immutable eyes and wan unmoving lips that were raised to mine i saw no light of memory nor any tremor of recognition and knowing now that she had forgotten i turned away despairingly and finding the river at my side was suddenly aware of my ancient thirst for its waters a thirst i had once thought to satisfy at many divers springs but in vain stooping hastily i drank and rising again perceived that the light had died or disappeared and that all the land was like the land of a dreamless slumber wherein i could no longer distinguish the faces of my companions nor was i able to remember any longer why i had wished to drink of the waters of oblivion The Caravan from Ebony and Crystal by Clark Ashton Smith.

Haunting There is no peace amid the moonlight and the pines, deep in the windless gloom the lamplike thought of you abides and ah what burning memories pursue my heart among the pallid marbles night assigns your silver face for wardress of the doors of sleep beyond the wild last-born of dreamland your eyes are on the lonesome ultimate undiscovered skies moonlike and dim you wander ever in the deep which is the secret, innermost, unknown abyss of my own soul, and in its night your spirit lives.

Shall I not find the very draft that Lethe gives, sweet with your tears, and warm with savour of your kiss?

the hidden paradise our passion is a secret paradise eden of lotus and the fruitful date with silence walled and held undesecrate by man or prying seraph we are wise as any god and goddess who have wrung from roseal fruitage of a bough forbidden the happy wine we drink we drink unchidden deep in the vales where vernal leaves are young and the first poppies lighter Though the breath of all the gods a bolted storm prepare, And blood-red gloom of thunders blind the sun, Shall we not turn with clinging kisses there, And laughing quaff some dreamless wine of death, Triumphant still in mere oblivion? Cleopatra from Ebony and Crystal by Clark Ashton Smith.

Read for LibriVox.org by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio.

There are two springs.

One is on the left, the spring of Lethe, of forgetfulness, and the dead must avoid it.

The other is the spring of Mnemosyne, of memory, and the dead must drink from it.

The guardians of the second spring must be addressed with a specific formula, a password essentially, identifying the deceased as someone who has been prepared, who knows the route, who has the right to drink.