Harriet Monroe

From “Notes of Travel”

Grand Canyon of Arizona

CARDEÑAS, I salute you!

You, marauding buccaneering Spaniard!

You, ragged and sworded lordling, slashing through to the Seven Cities of Cibola;

You, athirst in the desert, seeking to drink from the great river—

The mother of western seas, dear to your Hopi guides!

You, Cardeñas the Spaniard, three centuries before the next first white man,

You with your handful of starvelings stood on this Rim of the Canyon,

And looked down at flecks of water in the deeps,

Like yellow petals fallen.

You scrambled a few hundred feet down the sheer rock wall,

And knew you would never drink of that tawny torrent.

You gave it up, and thirsted, and cursed your guides.

And your leader, Coronado the adventurer,

Thought you mad when you told your story—

Mad of thirst in the desert,

Dreaming of loud deep rivers

In demon-haunted caverns.

But I believe you.

Here where I stand you stood—

On the rim of the world.

You saw these sky-wrapt towers,

These terraced purple temples august and terrible.

And over them—over—

You gazed at the Celestial City,

And counted the steps of gods on its ramparts,

And saw the Great White Throne, all pearl and moonstone,

Beyond, through the turquoise gates.