Yosemite

   SOUND! sound! sound!

O colossal walls and crown'd

In one eternal thunder!

Sound! sound! sound!

O ye oceans overhead,

While we walk, subdued in wonder,

In the ferns and grasses, under

And beside the swift Merced!

   Fret! fret! fret!

Streaming, sounding banners, set

On the giant granite castles

In the clouds and in the snow!

But the foe he comes not yet,--

We are loyal, valiant vassals,

And we touch the trailing tassles

Of the banners far below.

   Surge! surge! surge!

From the white Sierra's verge,

To the very valley blossom.

Surge! surge! surge!

Yet the song-bird builds a home,

And the mossy branches cross them

In the clouds of falling foam.

   Sweep! sweep! sweep!

O ye heaven-born and deep,

In one dread, unbroken chorus!

We may wonder or may weep,--

We may wait on God before us;

We may shout or lift a hand,--

We may bow down and deplore us,

But may never understand.

   Beat! beat! beat!

We advance, but would retreat

From this restless, broken breast

Of the earth in a convulsion.

We would rest, but dare not rest,

For the angel of expulsion

From this Paradise below

Waves run onward and . . . we go.

Joaquin Miller