Ascension - Poem by George Sterling
When I contemplate this mine urgent race
And see what paths its tireless feet have worn,
In silence and essential night forlorn,
To each cold peak that gives on mental space,—
Each spirit-eyrie of our time and. place,
It seems a Titan toiling toward the morn,
With bloody feet and coronal of thorn,
Hasten, O Time, that far, atoning Day
Whose feet of fire shall quench the lesser lights.
Yet to whose music, old ere life began
And throats and harps were fashioned of the clay,
The seraphim or unconjectured nights
Shall hear stars chanting in the soul of man.
Comments about Ascension by George Sterling
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You