Shasta
The canyon is deep shade beneath
And the tall pines rise out of it.
In the sun beyond, brilliant as death,
Is a mountain big with buried breath —
Hark, I can hear the shout of it!
The engine, on the curve ahead,
Turns into sight and busily
Sends up a spurt out of a bed
Of coal that lay for centuries dead
But now recovers dizzily.
What shall I be, what shall I do
In what divine experiment,
When, ready to be used anew,
I snap my nursing-bonds in two
And fling away my cerement?
Shall my good hopes continue still
And, gathering infinity,
Inhabit many a human will? —
An Indian in me, toward that hill,
Conceives himself divinity.
And the tall pines rise out of it.
In the sun beyond, brilliant as death,
Is a mountain big with buried breath —
Hark, I can hear the shout of it!
The engine, on the curve ahead,
Turns into sight and busily
Sends up a spurt out of a bed
Of coal that lay for centuries dead
But now recovers dizzily.
What shall I be, what shall I do
In what divine experiment,
When, ready to be used anew,
I snap my nursing-bonds in two
And fling away my cerement?
Shall my good hopes continue still
And, gathering infinity,
Inhabit many a human will? —
An Indian in me, toward that hill,
Conceives himself divinity.
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