 | The golden whales of California and other rhymes in the American language |  |
I
Come, let us think upon the great that came
Our spiritual solar-kings, whose fame
Is quenchless in the lands of mental light,
High planets in the vast historic game:
Our spiritual solar-kings, whose fame
Is quenchless in the lands of mental light,
High planets in the vast historic game:
Youths from the sky, they came in splendid flight.
We hold to them as to our day and night,
And by them measure out our moments here,
Our greatness, littleness, and wrong and right.
We hold to them as to our day and night,
And by them measure out our moments here,
Our greatness, littleness, and wrong and right.
For like the sun, we carry yesteryears
Within our wallets: all the ancient fears
And scorns and triumphs woven in our cloaks,
Our tall plumes bought with some lost race's tears.
Within our wallets: all the ancient fears
And scorns and triumphs woven in our cloaks,
Our tall plumes bought with some lost race's tears.
Oh sun, I wish that all the nations bright
You ever looked upon were in my sight,
That I had stood up in your royal car
With your eye-rays to search out field and height:
You ever looked upon were in my sight,
That I had stood up in your royal car
With your eye-rays to search out field and height:
39
To see young David, leading forth his sheep,
The Christ Child on the Hill of Nazareth sleep,
To watch proud Dante climb the stranger's stairs,
To see the ocean round Columbus leap.
The Christ Child on the Hill of Nazareth sleep,
To watch proud Dante climb the stranger's stairs,
To see the ocean round Columbus leap.
And beauty absolute man's heart has known
In those old hills where the Greek blood was sown,
They named you young Apollo in that day
And served you well, and loved your chariot-throne.
In those old hills where the Greek blood was sown,
They named you young Apollo in that day
And served you well, and loved your chariot-throne.
Would I had looked on Venice in her prime.
And long had watched the prayerful Gothic time
When Notre Dame arose, a mystery there
In wicked good old Paris and its grime!
And long had watched the prayerful Gothic time
When Notre Dame arose, a mystery there
In wicked good old Paris and its grime!
| The golden whales of California and other rhymes in the American language | |