Here
room and kingly silence keep
Companionship
in state austere; The
dignity of death is here, The
large, lone vastness of the deep. Here
toil has pitched his camp to rest: The
west is banked against the west. Above
yon gleaming skies of gold One
lone imperial peak is seen; While
gathered at his feet in green Ten
thousand foresters are told. And
all so still! so still the air That
duty drops the web of care. Beneath
the sunset’s golden sheaves The
awful deep walks with the deep, Where
silent sea-doves slip and sweep, And
commerce keeps her loom and weaves. The
dead red men refuse to rest; Their ghosts illume my lurid West. |
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