 | Going-to-the-stars |  |
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THESE ARE THE YOUNG
Dedicated to the Reverend Charles Pease Minister of the Unitarian Society, Spokane, Washington
I
“What new mob disturbs the days?
Who are these, with intrusive ways,
Who speak with an alien tongue?
Who are these Olympian-white
Butterflies of flame,
High upon Sun Mountain,
Invading now, every fountain,
Obeying their own captains
And to no man tame;
Whispering so low
We cannot hear at all,
Yet calling: ‘Brother,’ ‘Sister’
Through the sun-mountain wall?
Who are these Olympian-white
Butterflies of flame,
Full of a holy grace?
Tell me their spiritual name.”
Who are these, with intrusive ways,
Who speak with an alien tongue?
Who are these Olympian-white
Butterflies of flame,
High upon Sun Mountain,
Invading now, every fountain,
Obeying their own captains
And to no man tame;
Whispering so low
We cannot hear at all,
Yet calling: ‘Brother,’ ‘Sister’
Through the sun-mountain wall?
Who are these Olympian-white
Butterflies of flame,
Full of a holy grace?
Tell me their spiritual name.”
The Answer
“This is a separate race,Speaking an alien tongue—
These are the young!”
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II
“Tell me of the Olympian-white
Aspen trees of flame,
And of the Olympian-white
Mariposa lilies,
Climbing great Sun Mountain,
Invading now, every fountain,
Tell me their spiritual name.”
Aspen trees of flame,
And of the Olympian-white
Mariposa lilies,
Climbing great Sun Mountain,
Invading now, every fountain,
Tell me their spiritual name.”
The Answer
“This is a chosen people,This is a separate race
Speaking an alien tongue—
These are the young!”
III
“Tell me of the Olympian-white
Basket-flowers of flame
The marching-plumes of flame,
Climbing great Sun Mountain,
Invading now, every fountain,
While our hearts grow greater
And our climbing songs are sung;
While the days grow later,
While the sun still lingers,
Or great storm bells are rung,
And the lightning splits the hills,
And now, the falling fountain fills.
Tell me of these high-plumed tribes
Of Indian basket-flowers
That march up the Sun Mountain glacier,
Through the holy hours.
What is their spiritual name?”
Basket-flowers of flame
The marching-plumes of flame,
Climbing great Sun Mountain,
Invading now, every fountain,
While our hearts grow greater
And our climbing songs are sung;
While the days grow later,
While the sun still lingers,
Or great storm bells are rung,
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And now, the falling fountain fills.
Tell me of these high-plumed tribes
Of Indian basket-flowers
That march up the Sun Mountain glacier,
Through the holy hours.
What is their spiritual name?”
The Answer
“This is a separate race,Speaking an alien tongue—
These are the young!”
IV
“Who are these boys and girls on horseback
Who go by next day,
The horses loaded for camping,
No guides to lead the way?
Girls Olympian white
Or painted to the eyes,
Innocently wicked,
Innocently wise;
Innocently impudent,
Innocently gay—
Boys who are Young America,
Scholars, lean and white,
Or athletes red and gay,
Proud young man America,
Well on its way,
Girls most bewitching,
Boys most untamed,
Hotly praised and preached at; hotly, very hotly blamed.
Who are these? What is their aim?
What is now their game?
What is their spiritual name?”
Who go by next day,
The horses loaded for camping,
No guides to lead the way?
Girls Olympian white
Or painted to the eyes,
Innocently wicked,
Innocently wise;
Innocently impudent,
Innocently gay—
Boys who are Young America,
Scholars, lean and white,
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Proud young man America,
Well on its way,
Girls most bewitching,
Boys most untamed,
Hotly praised and preached at; hotly, very hotly blamed.
Who are these? What is their aim?
What is now their game?
What is their spiritual name?”
The Answer
“This is a chosen people,This is a separate race,
Speaking an alien tongue—
These are the darlings of my heart,
These are the young.”
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