Ed Stiles and old Tom Birnam went up to their cattle on the
bare hills
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We stayed the night in the pathless gorge of Ventana Creek,
up the east fork.
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Old garden of grayish and ochre lichen,
How long a rime since the brown people who have vanished from
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Doggerel," he thought, "will do for church-wardens,
Poetry's precious enough not to be wasted,"
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A horseman high alone as an eagle on the spur of the mountain
over Mirmas Canyon draws rein, looks down
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How many turn back toward dreams and magic, how many
children
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Staggering homeward between the stream and the trees the unhappy
drunkard
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The trail’s high up on the ridge, no one goes down
But the east wind and the falling water the concave slope without a name to the
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Christ was your lord and captain all your life,
He fails the world but you he did not fail,
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Friendship, when a friend meant a helping sword,
Faithfulness, when power and life were its fruits, hatred, when
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That Nova was a moderate star like our good sun; it stored no
doubt a little more than it spent
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The world's as the world is; the nations rearm and prepare to
change; the age of tyrants returns;
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(FEBRUARY, 1924)
It said "Come home, here is an end, a goal,
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from CAWDOR
Gently with delicate mindless fingers
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This woman cannot live more than one year.
Her growing death is hidden in a hopeless place,
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The sky was cold December blue with great tumbling clouds,
and the little river
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Amazingly active a toothless old man
Hobbled beside me up the canyon, going to Horse Flats, he said,
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An eagle's nest on the head of an old redwood on one of the
precipice-footed ridges
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The days shorten, the south blows wide for showers now,
The south wind shouts to the rivers,
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You'd never have thought the Queen was Helen's sister- Troy's
burning-flower from Sparta, the beautiful sea-flower
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Great-enough both accepts and subdues; the great frame takes
all creatures;
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Mountains, a moment's earth-waves rising and hollowing; the
earth too's an ephemerid; the stars-
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from CAWDOR
While George went to the house
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No vulture is here, hardly a hawk,
Could long wings or great eyes fly
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NEAR FINVOY, COUNTY ANTRIM
We climbed by the old quarries to the wide highland of heath,
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BALLYLESSON, NEAR BELFAST
Whoever is able will pursue the plainly
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I wish not to lie here.
There's hardly a plot of earth not blessed for burial, but here
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At East Lulworth the dead were friendly and pitiful, I saw them
peek from their ancient earthworks on the coast hills
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Walking in the flat Oxfordshire fields
Where the eye can find no rock to rest on but little flints
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It seems hardly necessary to stipulate that the elegiac tone of
these verses reflects the writer's mood, and is not meant for econom
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