Your ashes lie high on your sacred Sonoma Hills ... Your spirit is at rest. Rest? Every gem-blue wave that flows through the Golden Gate; Every storm-born billow that rolls to the Orient; Every snow-choked trail that ends at a cabin door Resurrects that insurgent spirit which no grave can hold While youth is still on earth. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OH YOU ARE COMING by SARA TEASDALE ELEGY ON MR. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE by WILLIAM BASSE TO E. T.: 1917 by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE BEGGAR'S HOLIDAY, FR. BEGGAR'S BUSH by JOHN FLETCHER THE MODERN MAJOR-GENERAL, FR. THE PIRATES OF PENZANCE by WILLIAM SCHWENCK GILBERT THE LAST CHRYSANTHEMUM by THOMAS HARDY TO - (2) by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY |