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11/22/2009 5:14:00 AM

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The world has many seas, Mediterranean, Atlantic, but 
        here is the shore of the one ocean.
And here the heavy future hangs like a cloud; the 
        enormous scene; the enormous games preparing
Weigh on the water and strain the rock; the stage is 
        here, the play is conceived; the players are 
        not found.

I saw on the Sierras, up the Kaweah valley above the 
        Moro rock, the mountain redwoods
Like red towers on the slopes of snow; about their 
        bases grew a bushery of Christmas green,
Firs and pines to be monuments for pilgrimage
In Europe; I remembered the Swiss forests, the dark 
        robes of Pilatus, no trunk like these there;
But these are underwood; they are only a shrubbery 
        about the boles of the trees.

Our people are clever and masterful;
They have powers in the mass, they accomplish marvels. 
        It is possible Time will make them before it 
        annuls them, but at present
There is not one memorable person, there is not one 
        mind to stand with the trees, one life with 
        the mountains.

Submitted by Holt

Robinson Jeffers

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