George Sterling

George Sterling Poems

The royal word goes forth, and armies do
The work of devils. Agony and waste
Are on the world, and the grim legions haste
...

Far up the mountain-side today
The slopes are baked and hot;
I find no shade upon my way,
And water-springs are not.
...

When I contemplate this mine urgent race
And see what paths its tireless feet have worn,
In silence and essential night forlorn,
...

Aloof upon the day's immeasured dome,
   He holds unshared the silence of the sky.
   Far down his bleak, relentless eyes descry
The eagle's empire and the falcon's home --
...

Slowly among the wounded and the slain
The gleaners take the harvest of the kings,
But harvest-song no joyous maiden sings,
...

Mother, in some sad evening long ago,
   From thy young breast my groping lips were taken,
   Their hunger stilled, so soon again to waken,
But nevermore that holy food to know.
...

The children of the flesh of men,
They pass from night to night;
They weep and laugh and labor, then
Are lost to human sight.
...

Cast round me now your arms' cool wreath of white
Forget the day's far wakening, and lie
More close! Without, the weary world goes by,
...

Untouched by crimson or by gold,
Its pure and fleeting marble rose
Beyond the wall of eastern snows —
Ethereal, Pentelic, cold.
...

There seems no wind in all the land.
Austere against the fading light
I see a lonely cypress stand,
As carved from steel and malachite.
...

Eve, and the stainèd pinions of the day,
Far-sinking as an eagle to her nest
On some encrimsoned isle beyond the West.
...

I saw a mountain at the close of day,
Snow-crowned and lonely, where the after-glow
Lingered, the ghost of sunset, fading slow.
...

How still the hour!
Remote
The day-moon seems to float
Above the mountains. Hath a ghostly flow'
...

'Tis told of one whose feet awhile were led
Thro' Paradise, that when this earth again
Was his with all its unrequited pain,
...

Thy beauty is an altar where I kneel,
Thy soul the Heaven of my constant pray'r.
Darling, I find thine image everywhere,
...

Slow to the wanton sun's desire
The vestal-bosomed buds unfold,
Till poppies flaunt a silken fire,
And buttercups a glassy gold.
...

The hot, huge slumber of the silent day
Has left the listening world no word but peace.
The broken shadows cease,
...

18.

'The Bones of Agamemnon are a show!'
And only yesterday I held in hand
That fossil resin from the Baltic strand—
The Miocene in mimic afterglow;
...

Thou art the star for which all evening waits-
O star of peace, come tenderly and soon
Nor heed the drowsy and enchanted moon,
...

There is no wind to stir the cypress tree.
Amber and chill the lucid sunset sank,
A wine the breathless lips of Evening drank.
...

The Best Poem Of George Sterling

As It Was In The Beginning

The royal word goes forth, and armies do
The work of devils. Agony and waste
Are on the world, and the grim legions haste
On the old war-roads that the Caesars knew.
Still gleams the dreadful stain of Waterloo,
On Time's accusing record unerased;
Gone are the ramparts that the Romans faced,
But these the heavens where their eagles flew.

Below the bleak and slowly shifting stars,
Man turns him in his madness, to reveal
His ancient folly and his ancient crime,
And on the tragic breast austere with scars
Re-girds the mail, and draws the hiked steel,
Cold from the twilight battlefields of Time.

George Sterling Comments

Nick G 15 April 2004

George Sterling's poetry is very vivid and powerful. The best, which is not featured here, just might be 'In Extremis'. He has a way with his words and using colorful imagery to create beautiful and fantastic landscapes which certainly stand out. His book of poems entitled 'The House of Orchids' is monumental and worth seeking out. He carries on the Romantic tradition which Shelley, Keats and Poe were a part of. Sadly, Sterling's poetry is overlooked and he is not known by too many people. His best friend was Jack London and his work is nothing short of phenomenal. Other poems to check out by George would be 'Happiest', 'Flame', 'The Last Days' and 'The Tides of Change'. This writer deserves far more recognition for his extraordinary vision and superb skill. Also worth noting is that he went to a seminary where the poet/priest John Banister Tabb was a teacher.

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