FREE BOOKS

Author's List




PREV.   NEXT  
|<   109   110   111   112   113   114   115   116   117   118   119   120   121   122   123   124   125   126   127   128   129   130   131   132   133  
134   135   136   137   138   139   140   141   142   143   144   145   146   147   148   149   150   151   152   153   154   >>  
rest, the week of leisure, The journey lapped in autumn haze, The sweet fatigue that seemed a pleasure, The morning ride, the noonday halt, The blazing slopes, the red dust rising, And then the dim, brown, columned vault, With its cool, damp, sepulchral spicing. Once more I see the rocking masts That scrape the sky, their only tenant The jay-bird, that in frolic casts From some high yard his broad blue pennant. I see the Indian files that keep Their places in the dusty heather, Their red trunks standing ankle-deep In moccasins of rusty leather. I see all this, and marvel much That thou, sweet woodland waif, art able To keep the company of such As throng thy friend's--the poet's--table: The latest spawn the press hath cast,-- The "modern popes," "the later Byrons,"-- Why, e'en the best may not outlast Thy poor relation--Sempervirens. Thy sire saw the light that shone On Mohammed's uplifted crescent, On many a royal gilded throne And deed forgotten in the present; He saw the age of sacred trees And Druid groves and mystic larches; And saw from forest domes like these The builder bring his Gothic arches. And must thou, foundling, still forego Thy heritage and high ambition, To lie full lowly and full low, Adjusted to thy new condition? Not hidden in the drifted snows, But under ink-drops idly spattered, And leaves ephemeral as those That on thy woodland tomb were scattered? Yet lie thou there, O friend! and speak The moral of thy simple story: Though life is all that thou dost seek, And age alone thy crown of glory, Not thine the only germs that fail The purpose of their high creation, If their poor tenements avail For worldly show and ostentation. LONE MOUNTAIN (CEMETERY, SAN FRANCISCO) This is that hill of awe That Persian Sindbad saw,-- The mount magnetic; And on its seaward face, Scattered along its base, The wrecks prophetic. Here come the argosies Blown by each idle breeze, To and fro shifting; Yet to the hill of Fate All drawing, soon or late,-- Day by day drifting; Drifting forever here Barks that for man
PREV.   NEXT  
|<   109   110   111   112   113   114   115   116   117   118   119   120   121   122   123   124   125   126   127   128   129   130   131   132   133  
134   135   136   137   138   139   140   141   142   143   144   145   146   147   148   149   150   151   152   153   154   >>  



Top keywords:
woodland
 

friend

 

Though

 

simple

 

scattered

 
foundling
 
forego
 

heritage

 
ambition
 

arches


builder

 

Gothic

 
spattered
 

leaves

 
Adjusted
 

condition

 
hidden
 
drifted
 

ephemeral

 

breeze


shifting

 

argosies

 

wrecks

 

prophetic

 

forever

 

Drifting

 

drifting

 

drawing

 

Scattered

 

creation


purpose

 
tenements
 

worldly

 

Persian

 

Sindbad

 
seaward
 

magnetic

 
FRANCISCO
 

ostentation

 
MOUNTAIN

CEMETERY
 

crescent

 
frolic
 
tenant
 

rocking

 

scrape

 
trunks
 

heather

 
standing
 

places