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TWILIGHT AT THE HEIGHTS
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.
Come under my oaks, oh, drowsy dusk !
When candles are set to burn in the west
DEAD IN THE SIERRAS
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 In the leaves on his limb; May scream and may scream, It is nothing to him.
Prone, bearded, and breasted Like columns of stone; And tall as a pineAs a pine overthrown!
His camp-fires gone,
Ay, tombless! what of it?
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
I reckon him nobler than king or khan,
And wisest he in this whole wide land
So whether to wander the stars or to rest
Forever hushed and dumb,
He gave with a zest and he gave his bestGive him the best to come.
WHO tamed your lawless Tartar blood?
Who girt the thews of your young prime
Who taught you tender Bible tales
THE VOICE OF THE DOVE
COME listen, O Love, to the voice of the dove, Come, hearken and hear him say,
As the things I eat are rather tough and dry;
For I live on toasted lizards,
Prickly pears, and parrot gizzards, And I'm really very fond of beetle-pie.
The clothes I had were furry, And it made me fret and worry When I found the moths were eating off the hair;
And I had to scrape and sand 'em,
I sometimes seek diversion
With the few domestic animals you see;
As refreshments for the parrot,
Then we gather as we travel Bits of moss and dirty gravel, And we chip off little specimens of stone; And we carry home as prizes Funny bugs of handy sizes,
Just to give the day a scientific tone.
If the roads are wet and muddy We remain at home and study, For the Goat is very clever at a sum, And the Dog, instead of fighting, Studies ornamental writing,
While the Cat is taking lessons on the drum.
We retire at eleven,
And we rise again at seven;
And I wish to call attention, as I close,
SONG FOR "THE JAQUERIE"
THE sun has kissed the violet sea, And burned the violet to a rose.
O Sea! wouldst thou not better be
Well hides the violet in the wood: