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The Sorceror to his Love by Clark Ashton Smith

Within your arms I will forget

The horror that Zimimar brings

Between his vast and vampire wings

From out his frozen oubliette.

The terror born of ultimate space

That gnaws with icy fang and fell,

The sucklings of the hag of hell,

Shall flee the enchantment of your face.

Ah, more than all my wizard art

The circle our delight has drawn:

What evil phantoms thence have gone,

What dreadful presences depart!

Your arms are white, your arms are warm

To hold me from the haunted air,

And you alone are firm and fair

Amid the darkly whirling storm.