The San Francisco call., 1910-08-14
he Stirring Poems OF Samuel l. Simpson, Oregon Pone

Nor breathed the roses fragrant sighI
weary land-alas. alas.
The shadows ef the vuItures pass
spectral sign across your path;
The gaunt, gray wolf. with mead askance,
Throws back at you a scuwling glance
OF eringing hate and coward wrath.
And like wrath accursed and banned
Fades out before your lifted hand.
A dim, sad land. forgot. forswOrn.
BY all bright life that may not mourn,
And craZed with glistening ghost of seas
In broideries of flowers and trees,
And rivers, blue and cool, that seem
To ripple in feyered dream
Only to taunt the thirst and hy
From withered lip and lurid eye.
hundred days, hundred nights
The goal is further than before.
And al the changing shades and lights
Are wrought in Faney's woof no more.
The sun Is weary overhead,
And pallid deserts round you spread
sorrowful eternity;
And. If some grizzly mountains here
Confront your march with forms of fear,
You turn aside and pass them by
And all are oyerworn-the flesh
Is now frayed and faded mesh
That VIII not mask the inward hame;
There is no longer any care
To round the speech, or speak men fair,
OR any gentle sense OF shame;
The hearts of all are sifted through
The grain drops through the windy husks,
And false lights tickering round the true
Are Que0cQeu at last IN Jews anu uuSkS-
And some are silent. some are loud,
And rage like beasts among the crowd
And some are mild, and some are sharp
In word aud deed, and snarl and carp,
And fret the camp with petty broils;
While some Of temper sweet and bland
Do seem to bear a magic wand
That wins the secret of their tolls
Rare souls that waste like sandal-woOd
In many a fragrant deed and mood
And some invoke the wrath of God.
Or feign to kiss the scourging rod
And some, maybe with better prayers,
Stand up in all their griefs and cares
And clench their teeth. and do and die,
Without whine. curse or cry.
And so the dust and grit and stain
OF travel wears into the grain.
And so the hearts and souls of men
Were darkly tried and tested then,
So that In happy after years,
When rainbows gid remembered tears,
Should any friend inquire of you
If such such an one you knew
] hear the answer, terse and grim,
'.Ah, yes, crossed the plains with him."
And lol a moaning phantom stands
To greet you In the lonely lands,
Among all lesser shadows dight
With spoils of death; his meager hands
Salute you as you pass, and claim
The sacrifice that feeds bis flame.
The march has broken into flight,
And wreck and ruins strew the road
The flaming phantom has bestowed;
The OK lies gasping In his yoke.
Beside the wagon that he drew
Where the forsaken camphres smoke
To hopeless skies of tawny blue:
And here are straight, still mounds that marx
The flight of lffe's delusive spark
The sombre points of pause that lie
So thick in human destiny.
And o. so dark on. this bleak page
OF drifting sand aud dreary sage.
The sultry levels of the day
The night with weird enchantment fills,
And frowning forests stretch away
Along the slopes OF shadow hills;
And in the solemn stiffness breaks
The wild wolf-music of the plain,
As il deeper sorrow wakes
The dreary dead in that refrain
That swells and gathers like wall
OF woe from Pluto's ebon pale.
And sinks in pulseless calm again.
For many days form OF white
Has flashed and faded in your sight
In feetng gimpses as OF wings:
Our Gods bright palm in beckonings-
1t is secret nursed OF each
You dare not give the thought In speech,
So weirdly solemn is the sign,
As if upon the western stairs
The angel Of thousand prayers
Were come with sacred bread and wine.
Again the still. enchanted hour
OF sunset burns in crimson flower,
And purple hearted shadows sleep
Like clustered pansies. warm and Deep
Eastward OF wreathen crag and wall
The trail that wound up and wound all day