Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A SONG OF CREATION: BOOK 1, CANTO 4, by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A SONG OF CREATION: BOOK 1, CANTO 4, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: How passing fair, how wondrous fair
Last Line: White ice tents dash and dot the seas.
Alternate Author Name(s): Miller, Joaquin
Subject(s): Creation


I

How passing fair, how wondrous fair,
This daughter of the yellow sun!
Her sunlit length and strength of hair
Seemed sun and gold inwound in one.
How strangely silent, unaware,
Unconscious quite of strength or grace
Or peril of her beauteous face,
She stood, the first-born of a race,
A proud, new race, scarce yet begun.
How tall she stood, free debonair --
How stately and how supple, tall,
The time she loosened and let fall
Her tossed and mighty Titian hair!

II

So beautiful she was, as one
From out some priceless picture-book!
You could but love, you had no choice
But love and turn again to look.
How young she was and yet how old! --
Red orange ripened in the sun
Where never hand had reached as yet.
The calm strength of her lifted face,
The low notes of her tuneful voice,
Were mint-marks of that wondrous race
But scarcely born nor known as yet
Beyond yon yellow hills that fret
Warm sea-winds with their waving pine.
A princess of that royal line
Of kings who came and silent passed,
Yet, passing, set bold, royal hand
And mighty mint-marks on the land,
And set it there to last and last,
As if in bronzen copper cast.

III

He, too, was born of men who wooed
The savage walks of solitude,
And hewed close, clean to nature's laws --
Of men who knew not tears or fears,
Of men full-sexed, yet men who knew
Not sex till perfect manhood was.
When men had thews of antique men,
And one stood with the strength of ten;
When men gat men who dared to do;
Gat men of heart who dwelt apart,
As Adam dwelt, when giants grew
And men as gods drew ample breath --
As Adams with their thousand years,
Ere drunkenness of sex had done
The silly world to willing death.

IV

What royal parentage, what true
Nobility, those men who knew
The light, who chased the yellow sun
From sea to sea triumphantly,
And westward fought and westward won,
As never daring man had done.

V

They housed with God upon the height;
Companioned with the peak, the pine;
They led the red-lit firing line.
Walled 'round by room and room and room,
They read God's open book at night,
And drank His star-distilled perfume;
By day they dared the trackless west
And chased the battling sun to rest.

VI

Such sad, mad marches to the sea,
Such silent sacrifice, such trust!
Such months of marching, misery,
Such mountains heaped with heroes' dust!
Yet what stout thews the fearless few
Who won the sea at last, who knew
The cleansing fire and laid hold
To hammer out their house of gold!

VII

Their cities zone their sea of seas,
Their white tents top the mountain's crest.
The coward? He trenched not with these.
The weakling? He was laid to rest.
Each man stood forth a man, such men
As God wrought not since time began,
Each man a hero, lion each.
Behold what length of limb, what length
Of life, of love, what daring reach
To deep-hived honeycomb! What strength!
How clean his hands, how stout his heart
To dare, to do, camp, court or mart.
He stands so tall, so clean, he hears
The morning music of the spheres.

VIII

He loved her, feared her, far apart,
He kept his ways and dreamed his dreams;
He sang strange songs, he tuned his heart
To music of the pines that preach
Such sermons on such holy themes
As only he who climbs can reach.

IX

He would not selfish pluck one rose
To wear upon his breast a day
And let its perfume pass away
With any wind that comes or goes.
Why, he might walk God's garden through
Nor touch one bud nor fright one bird.
The music of the spheres he heard,
The harmony he breathed, he knew.
He never marred God's harmony
With one harsh thought. The favored few
Who cared to live above the sod
And lift glad faces up to God
He knew loved all as well as he,
Had equal right to rose or tree.

X

And he must spare all to the day
Their willing feet should pass the way
God in His garden walked at eve.
And as for weaklings who by turn
Would jest or jeer, he could but grieve,
And pity all and silent say:
"Let us lead forth, make fair the way;
By time and stress they, too, will learn
Which way to live, to love, to turn."

XI

The long, lean Polar bear uprose,
Outreached a paw, a bare, black nose,
As if to still hold hard control,
By glacier steep or ice-packed main,
His mighty battlemented snows.
He bared his yellow teeth in vain;
Then backed against his bleak North Pole
He sulked and shook his icy chain.
And he who dared not pluck a rose,
As if in chorus with his pine,
Must up and lead the battle line
Beyond the awesome Arctic chine.

XII

No airy sighs, no tales to tell;
He knew God is, that all is well,
That death is but a name, a date,
A milestone by the stormy road,
Where you may lay aside your load
And bow your face and rest and wait,
Defying fear, defying fate.

XIII

How fair is San Francisco Bay
When golden stars consort and when
The moon pours silver paths for men,
And care walks by the other way!
Huge ships, black-bellied, lay below
Broad, yellow flags from silken Chind,
Round, blood-red banners from Nippon,
Like to her sun at sudden dawn --
Brave battle-ships as white as snow,
With bannered stars tossed to the wind,
Warm as a kiss when love is kind.

XIV

'Twas twilight, such soft, twilight night
As only Californians know,
When faithful love is forth, and when
The Bay lies bathed in mellow light;
And perfumed breath and softened breeze
Blows far from Honolulu's seas --
From sundown seas in afterglow --
When Song sits at the feet of men
And pipes, low-voiced as mated dove,
For love to measure step with love.

XV

And yet, for all the perfumed seas,
The peace, the silent harmonies,
The two stood mute, estranged before
Her high-built, stately, opened door
High up the terraced, plunging hill
As hushed as death, as white and still.

XVI

The moon, amid her yellow fleet,
With full, white sail, moved on and on,
And drew, as loving hearts are drawn,
All seas of earth fast following,
As slow she sailed her sapphire seas.
Then, as if pausing, pitying,
She poured down at their very feet
Broad silver ways to walk upon
Which way they would, or east or west,
Which way they would, or worst or best.

XVII

Her voice was low, low leaned her head,
Her two white hands all helpless prest
As if to hush her aching breast,
As if to bid her aching heart
To silent bear its bitter part,
The while she choking, sobbing said:
"Then here, for all our poppy days,
Here, here, the parting of the ways?"

XVIII

"Aye, so you will it. Here divide
The ways, forever and a day.
You, you -- you women lead the way --
You lead where love hangs crucified,
Where love is laid prone in the dust --
Where cunning, cold men mouth sweet lies
And make pure love their merchandise.
You heedless lead to hollow lands
Of bloodless hearts and nerveless hands;
I will not rival such, nay, nay
Notlook on such, save with disgust."

XIX

Her head sank lower still: her hair,
Her heavy hair, great skeins of gold,
Hung loosened, heedless, fold on fold,
As if she cared not, could not care;
She tried to speak but nothing said;
She could but press her aching heart,
Step back a pace and shudder, start,
The while she slowly moved her head,
As if to say; but nothing said.

XX

Her silence lit his soul with rage,
He strode before her, forth and back,
A lion strident in his cage,
Hard bound within his iron track.
And then he paused, shook back his head,
And fronting her half savage said:
"My father, yours, each Argonaut
An Alexander, to this sea
Came forth and conquered mightily.

XXI

"God, what great loves, what lovers when
These westmost states were born of men,
When giants gripped their hands and came
With nerves of steel and souls of flame --
Could you not wait within yon Gate,
As their loves dared to wait and wait?
An hundred thousand Didos sat
Atlantic's sea-bank nor forgot,
The while their lovers westmost fought,
But patient sat as Dido, when
She waved AEneas back again
And bravely dared to smile thereat.

XXII

"Hear me! All Europe, rind to core,
Is rotting, tumbling, base to top.
Withhold the gold and silver prop
Our dauntless fathers hewed of yore
From yonder seamed Sierras' core,
And such a toppling you may hear
As never fell on mortal ear.

XXIII

"What's London town but sorrow's town
And sins, such as I dare not name?
Such thousands creeping up and down
Its dreary streets in draggled shame!
What's London but a market pen --
Its hundred thousand lewd, rude men?
What's London but a town of stone,
Its thousand thousand women prone?

XXIV

"What's Paris but a painted screen,
A gaudy gauze that scant conceals
The sensuous nakedness between
The folds it but the more reveals?
What's Paris but a circus, fair,
To tempt this west world's open purse
With tawdry trinkets, toys bizarre?
Ah, would that she were nothing worse!
What's Paris but a piteous mart
For west-world mothers crazed to trade
Some silly, simpering, weak maid
For thread-bare, out-at-elbows rank --
To outworn, weak degenerate
Whose bank is but the faro bank,
Whose grave bounds all his real estate;
Whose boast, whose only stock in trade,
A duel and a ruined maid!

XXV

"What's Berlin, Dresden, sorry Rome,
But traps that take you unaware?
Behold yon paintings, right at home,
Where nature paints with patient care
Such splendid pictures, sea and shore,
As all the world should bow before;
Such pictures hanging to the skies
Against the walls of Paradise,
From base to bastion, as should wake
Piave's painter from the dust;
Such walls of color crowned in snow,
Such steeps, such deeps, profoundly vast,
As old-time Art had died to know,
And knowing, died content, as he
Who looked from Nimo's steep to see,
Just once, the Promised Land, and passed!
And yet, for all yon scene, this sea,
You will not bide, Penelope?

XXVI

"Then go, since you so will it, go!
My way lies yonder, forth and far
Beneath yon gleaming northmost star
O'er silent lands of trackless snow.
Lo, there leads duty, hope, as when
This westmost world demanded men:
Such men as led the firing line
When blood ran free as festal wine;
Such men as when, fast side by side,
Our fathers fought and fighting died.

XXVII

"But go -- good by! Go see again
The noisy circus, since you must;
Its painted women that disgust,
Its nauseating monkey men;
But mark you, Beautiful, the moth
That loves that luring, sensuous light --
Nay, hear! I am not wilful, wroth;
I love with such exceeding might,
My beautiful, my all, my life,
I would not, could not take to wife
My lily tainted by the touch,
The breath, the very sight of such.

XXVIII

"Shall I see leprous apes lean o'er
My rose, breathe, touch it if they may,
With breath that is a very stench,
The while they bow and bend before
Familiar, as with some weak wench,
And smirk in double-meaning French?

XXIX

"You shrink back angered? Well, adieu;
What, not a hand? What, not a touch?. . .
My crime is that I love too much,
My crime is that I love too true,
Love you, love you, not part of you --
Yea, how much less the rose that droops
In fevered halls where folly stoops!

XXX

"Yon splendid, triple, midnight star
Is mine; I follow fast and sure,
Because it guides so far, so far
From fevered follies that allure
Your soul, your splendid, spotless soul
To wreck where siren billows roll --
Good night! What, turn aside your face
That I might never see again
Its lifted glory and proud grace,
As some brave beacon light! Well, then. . . .
Ha, ha! Let's laugh lest one may weep --
How steep your hill seems, steeps how steep!
How deep down seems the misty town,
How lone, how dark, how distant down!
The moon, too, turns her face, her light,
As you have turned your face tonight,
As you have turned your face from me,
My heartless, lost Penelope."

XXXI

Then sudden up she tossed her head,
And, face to his face, proudly said:
"Penelope! To wait and weave!
Penelope! To wait and wait,
As waits a dog within his gate;
To weave and unweave, grieve and grieve,
As some weak harem favorite
Tight fenced from action, life, and light!

XXXII

"Why, I should not have sat one day
To that dull-threaded, thudding loom,
With cowards crowding fast for room
To say what brave men dare not say!
Why, I had snatched down from the wall
His second sword that sad, first day
And set its edge to end it all! --
Had hewn that loom to splinters, yea,
Had slashed the warp, enmeshed the woof
And called that dog and put to proof
Each silly suitor hounding me,
Then hoisted sail and bent to sea!

XXXIII

"Penelope! Penelope!
Of all fool tales in history
I think this tale the foolishest!
Why I, the favored of that land,
Had such fools come to seek my hand,
Had ranged in line the sexless list
And frankly answered with my fist!"

XXXIV

He passed. She paused. Each helpless hand
Fell down, fell heavy down as lead;
She tried but could not understand.
At last she raised once more her head,
Set firm her lips, stepped back a pace,
Looked long his far star in the face,
Stood stately, still, as fixed as fate,
Till all the east flushed sudden red;
Then as she turned within she said:
"I cannot, will not, will not wait."

He passed, with set lips, lifted hand,
He passed the northmost golden zone
Of dreamful, yellow poppy land,
And silent passed, and so alone!

Beyond the utmost Oregon,
Far, far beyond and still beyond,
Where the crisp, clean waters rattle
O'er the sparkling, shining shale,
Where the dusky king, Seattle,
Lorded mountain, wold and vale,
When he drave his galleon
Where scarce a battle-ship would dare,
Far out, far out, or dusk or dawn,
An hundred leagues of sea to fare
All up or down or anywhere --
Whose dusky, tall, breeched oarsmen ate
Red salmon of an hundred weight.

His huge white cedar ships were wrought
By flint and flame and ballasted
With slabs of virgin copper brought
From hidden mountain mines and red
With dash and dot of native gold --
Their coin, their currency of old.
Here white Tacoma smiles upon
Wild, wood-born blackness everywhere!
Here hairy monsters prowl and howl
Their whole night long and nothing care,
White-fanged or mated cheek by jowl.
Here nature is, here man may trace
First footprints of his brutal race.

On, on, what wood-hung waters these;
What baby cities crowd the seas!
What British ships incessantly
Cross swords with stately shadow trees!
What white-maned stallions plunge and play
And charge and challenge day by day
These baby cities of the wold
That sit their shifting sands of gold!
What black firs climb the cloud-capped steep
And bid the bold invaders halt!
What robust Britons mount and keep
Their topless walls of Esquimalt!

On, on, what inland seas of wonder,
So icy cold, so spicy keen,
So deep as fate, so clear, so clean!
You taste a tingling, spicy breath
What time the avalanche's thunder
Grinds balm and balsam woods to death
And in these wood-walled seas of wonder
Swift drowns his dread, earth-shaking thunder;
While here and there beneath the trees
White ice tents dash and dot the seas.





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