Works

The grey gaunt days dividing us in twain
Seemed hopeless hills my strength must faint to climb,
But they are gone; and now I would detain
The few clock-beats that part us; rein back Time,
...

I have trod this path a hundred times
With idle footsteps, crooning rhymes.
I know each nest and web-worm's tent,
The fox-hole which the woodchucks rent,
Maple and oak, the old Divan...

Who beckons the green ivy up
Its solitary tower of stone?
What spirit lures the bindweed's cup
Unfaltering on?
Calls even the starry lichen to climb
By agelong inches endless Time?
...

Up from the templed city of the Jews,
The road ran straight and white
To Jericho, the City of the Palms,
The City of Delight.

Down that still road from far Judean hills...

This is the tale that the Chronicle
Tells of the wonderful miracle
Wrought by the pious Padre Serro,
The very reverend Junipero.

The heathen stood on his ancient mound,...

The night we felt the earth would move
We stole and plucked him by the hand,
Because we loved him with the love
That knows but cannot understand.

And when the roaring hillside broke,...

What touch is like the Spring's?
By dainty fingerings
Such rare delight to give,
'Tis luxury to live
Amid florescent things.

Through weary months of snow
When Boreas swept low,...

What it would mean for you and me
If dawn should come no more!
Think of its gold along the sea,
Its rose above the shore!
That rose of awful mystery,
Our souls bow down before.
...

I sent a message to my dear,
A thousand leagues and more to Her,
The dumb sea-levels thrilled to hear,
And Lost Atlantis bore to Her.

Behind my message hard I came,...

An antique mirror this,
I like it not at all,
In this lonely room where the goblin gloom
Scowls from the arrased wall.

A mystic mirror framed
In ebon, wildly carved;...

I dreamed a dream of heaven, white as frost,
The splendid stillness of a living host;
Vast choirs of upturned faces, line o'er line.
Then my blood froze; for every face was mine.
...

AT first awhile sits he,

With calm, unruffled brow;
His features then I see,
Distorted hideously,

An owl's they might be now.

What is it, askest thou?
Is't love, or is't ennui?...

A Dramatic Poem

S. L. Sawtelle.

Dear Sir:
...

The verge of Creation. Enter Werner and Spirit.

Werner.

We have outtravelled light and sound:
The harmonies that pealed around us, as
Through yon array of dim and distant worlds...

Scene I. Near the place of the damned. Enter Werner and Spirit.

Werner.

What piercing, stunning sounds assail my ear!
Wild shrieks and wrathful curses, groans and prayers,...

Scene I. A peak of the Alps. Werner alone. Time, morning.

Werner.

How gloriously beautiful is earth!
In these her quiet, unfrequented haunts,
To which, except the timid chamois' foot,...

The night was dark and dreary,
And the autumn-wind went by
With a sound like Sorrow's wailing
In its sadly mournful cry; -
The yew trees, old and drooping,
Shook in the angry blast,...

Withered and gray as winter; gnarled and old,
With bony hands he crouches by the coals;
His beggar's coat is patched and worn in holes;
Rags are his shoes: clutched in his claw-like hold...

[1]

A man amass'd. The thing, we know,
Doth often to a frenzy grow.
No thought had he but of his minted gold -
Stuff void of worth when unemploy'd, I hold....

He buried his Gold in a hole.
One saw, and the treasure he stole.
Said another, "What matter?
Don't raise such a clatter,
You can still go & sit by the hole."

Use Alone Gives Value