The Centaur

by Clark Ashton Smith


	I belong to those manifold Existences
	Once known, or once suspected,
	That exist no more for man.

	Was it not well to flee
	Into the boundless realms of legend
	Lest man should bridle me?

	Sometimes I am glimpsed by poets
	Whose eyes have not been blinded
	By the hell-bright lamps of cities,
	Who have not sent their souls
	To be devoured by robot minotaurs
	In the infamous Labyrinths of steel and mortar.

	I know the freedom of fantastic things,
	Ranging in fantasy.
	I leap and bound and run
	Below another sun.
	Was it not well to flee
	Long, long ago, lest man should bridle me?