Poetry

An Answer

by Joaquin Miller

  • Well! who shall lay hand on my harp but me,
  • Or shall chide my song from the sounding trees?
  • The passionate sun and the resolute sea,
  • These were my masters, and only these.

  • These were my masters, and only these,
  • And these from the first I obey'd, and they
  • Shall command me now, and I shall obey
  • As a dutiful child that is proud to please.

  • There never were measures as true as the sun,
  • The sea hath a song that is passingly sweet,
  • And yet they repeat, and repeat, and repeat,
  • The same old runes though the new years run.

  • By unnamed rivers of the Oregon north,
  • That roll dark-heaved into turbulent hills,
  • I have made my home...... The wild heart thrills
  • With memories fierce, and a world storms forth.

  • On eminent peaks that are dark with pine,
  • And mantled in shadows and voiced in storms,
  • I have made my camps: majestic gray forms
  • Of the thunder-clouds, they were companions of Mine;

  • And face set to face, like to lords austere,
  • Have we talk'd, red-tongued, of the mysteries
  • Of the circling sun, of the oracled seas,
  • While ye who judged me had mantled in fear.

  • Some fragment of thought in the unfinish'd words;
  • A cry of fierce freedom, and I claim no more.
  • What more would you have from the tender of herds
  • And of horse on an ultimate Oregon shore?

  • From men unto God go forth, as alone,
  • Where the dark pines talk in their tones of the sea
  • To the unseen God in a harmony
  • Of the under seas, and know the unknown.

  • 'Mid white Sierras, that slope to the sea,
  • Lie turbulent lands. Go dwell in the skies,
  • And the thundering tongues of Yosemite
  • Shall persuade you to silence, and you shall be wise.

  • Yea, men may deride, and the thing it is well;
  • Turn well and aside from the one wild note
  • To the song of the bird with the tame, sweet throat;
  • But the sea sings on in his cave and shell.

  • Let the white moons ride, let the red stars fall,
  • 0 great, sweet sea! 0 fearful and sweet!
  • Thy songs they repeat, and repeat, and repeat:
  • And these, I say, shall survive us all.