We plant this stone as some small seed Is sown at springtime, warm with earth; We sow this seed as some good deed Is sown, to grow until its worth Sh… - Joaquin Miller

Dear, I took these trackless masses Fresh from Him who fashioned them; Wrought in rock, and hewed fair passes, Flower set, as sets a gem. Aye, I built in woe. God willed it; Woe that passeth ghosts of guilt. Yet I built as His birds builded — Builded singing as I built. All is finished! Roads of flowers Wait your loyal little feet. All completed? Nay, the hours Till you come are incomplete.

Rugged! Rugged as Parnassus! Rude, as all roads I have trod — Yet are steeps and stone-strown passes Smooth o'er head, and nearest God. Here black thunders of my canyon Shake its walls in Titan wars! Here white sea-born clouds companion With such peaks as know the stars!

A grand old Neptune in the prow, Gray-hair'd, and white with touch of time, Yet strong as in his middle prime; A grizzled king, I see him now, With beard as blown by wind of seas, And wild and white as white sea-storm, Stand up, turn suddenly, look back Along the low boat's wrinkled track, Then fold his mantle round a form Broad-built as any Hercules, And so sit silently.