The world has many seas, Mediterranean, Atlantic, but <br /> here is the shore of the one ocean. <br />And here the heavy future hangs like a cloud; the <br /> enormous scene; the enormous games preparing <br />Weigh on the water and strain the rock; the stage is <br /> here, the play is conceived; the players are <br /> not found. <br /> <br />I saw on the Sierras, up the Kaweah valley above the <br /> Moro rock, the mountain redwoods <br />Like red towers on the slopes of snow; about their <br /> bases grew a bushery of Christmas green, <br />Firs and pines to be monuments for pilgrimage <br />In Europe; I remembered the Swiss forests, the dark <br /> robes of Pilatus, no trunk like these there; <br />But these are underwood; they are only a shrubbery <br /> about the boles of the trees. <br /> <br /> Our people are clever and masterful; <br />They have powers in the mass, they accomplish marvels. <br /> It is possible Time will make them before it <br /> annuls them, but at present <br />There is not one memorable person, there is not one <br /> mind to stand with the trees, one life with <br /> the mountains. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />Submitted by Holt<br /><br />Robinson Jeffers<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/contrast/
