Proem

Joaquin Miller (1841–1913)

From “The Isles of the Amazons,” Part III.

COME, lovers, come, forget your pains!

I know upon this earth a spot

Where clinking coins, that clank as chains

Upon the souls of men, are not;

Nor man is measured for his gains

Of gold that stream with crimson stains.

There snow-topped towers crush the clouds,

And break the still abode of stars,

Like sudden ghosts in snowy shrouds,

New broken through their earthly bars,

And condors whet their crooked beaks

On lofty limits of the peaks.

O men that fret as frets the main!

You irk me with your eager gaze

Down in the earth for fat increase—

Eternal talks of gold and gain,

Your shallow wit, your shallow ways,

And breaks my soul across the shoal

As breakers break on shallow seas.