 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
I
So old, so new and yet how old
This forest's green, that mesa's gold!
This forest's green, that mesa's gold!
Rank, wild oats, waving in wild strength—
The lion's tawny mane and length!
Rank Artemesia, odorous
And gray with bald antiquity—
The rough arroyo swallowed us
As we rode down by two, by three,
The braying ass, the neighing stud—
And now the mesa, broad and free;
Tall cacti blooms, as tipt with blood:
And here a burning bush, and there
The red night-blooming cereus
Kneeled low, as if saluting us—
Kneeled as some red-robed monk at prayer,
High up the gleaming steeps of snow
Of Zacatecas, Mexico.
The lion's tawny mane and length!
Rank Artemesia, odorous
And gray with bald antiquity—
The rough arroyo swallowed us
As we rode down by two, by three,
The braying ass, the neighing stud—
And now the mesa, broad and free;
Tall cacti blooms, as tipt with blood:
And here a burning bush, and there
The red night-blooming cereus
Kneeled low, as if saluting us—
Kneeled as some red-robed monk at prayer,
High up the gleaming steeps of snow
Of Zacatecas, Mexico.
To left such green wood, and such green!
To right brown mesa, bald and bare:
But where we rode, the two between—
Such crimson, crimson everywhere!
Aye, earth was gaily garmented;
The great, green robe spread far away,
So far no man would dare to say,
And this great, green robe fringed with red,
Lay trackless, lifeless as the dead.
The yellow lion's skin behind,
The wild oats waving in the wind;
But that dense, silent wold of death
Drew not a breath, knew not a breath!
To right brown mesa, bald and bare:
But where we rode, the two between—
Such crimson, crimson everywhere!
16
The great, green robe spread far away,
So far no man would dare to say,
And this great, green robe fringed with red,
Lay trackless, lifeless as the dead.
The yellow lion's skin behind,
The wild oats waving in the wind;
But that dense, silent wold of death
Drew not a breath, knew not a breath!
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |