George Sterling

(1869-1926 / United States)

George Sterling Poems

121. At Midnight 4/7/2010
122. Art And Life 4/7/2010
123. The First Food 1/4/2003
124. Aftermath 4/7/2010
125. A Compact? 4/7/2010
126. The Black Vulture 1/4/2003
127. As It Was In The Beginning 4/7/2010

Comments about George Sterling

  • Nick G (4/15/2004 3:32:00 AM)

    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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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...

Read the full of As It Was In The Beginning

Spring In Carmel

O'er Carmel fields in the springtime the sea-gulls follow the plow.
   White, white wings on the blue above!
   White were your brow and breast, O Love!
   But I cannot see you now.
   Tireless ever the Mission swallow
   Dips to meadow and poppied hollow;
   Well for her mate that he can follow,
   As the buds are on the bough.

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