’MID white Sierras, that slope to the sea,
Lie turbulent lands. Go dwell in the skies,
And the thundering tongues of Yosemitè
Shall persuade you to silence, and you shall be wise.
I but sing for the love of song and the few
Who loved me first and...
BEHOLD where Beauty walks with Peace!
Behold where Plenty pours her horn
Of fruits, of flowers, fat increase,
As generous as light of morn.
Green Shasta, San Diego, seas
Of bloom and green between them rolled.
Great herds in grasses to their...
From “The Isles of the Amazons,” Part III.
COME, lovers, come, forget your pains!
I know upon this earth a spot
Where clinking coins, that clank as chains
Upon the souls of men, are not;
Nor man is measured for his gains
Of gold that stream...
you will come, my bird, Bonita?
Come! For I by steep and stone
Have built such nest for you, Juanita,
As not eagle bird hath known.
Rugged! Rugged as Parnassus!
Rude, as all roads I have trod—
Yet are steeps and stone-strewn passes
...
Come listen, O Love, to the voice of the dove,
Come, hearken and hear him say,
There are many To-morrows, my Love, my Love,—
There is only one To-day.
And all day long you can hear him say
This day in purple is rolled,
And the baby stars of the...
Who tamed your lawless Tartar blood?
What David bearded in her den
The Russian bear in ages when
You strode your black, unbridled stud,
A skin-clad savage of your steppes?
Why, one who now sits low and weeps,
Why, one who now wails out to you,—...
give honor and love for evermore
To this great man gone to rest;
Peace on the dim Plutonian shore,
Rest in the land of the blest.
I reckon him greater than any man
That ever drew sword in war;
I reckon him nobler than king or khan,
...
his footprints have failed us,
Where berries are red,
And madroños are rankest,—
The hunter is dead!
The grizzly may pass
By his half-open door;
May pass and repass
On his path, as of yore;
The panther may crouch
...
The brave young city by the Balboa seas
Lies compassed about by the hosts of night—
Lies humming, low, like a hive of bees;
And the day lies dead. And its spirit’s flight
Is far to the west; while the golden bars
That bound it are broken to a dust of stars...
Here room and kingly silence keep
Companionship in state austere;
The dignity of death is here,
The large, lone vastness of the deep;
Here toil has pitched his camp to rest:
The west is banked against the west.
Above yon gleaming skies of gold...
