- "Taj
Mahal"
- This
poem appeared in the June 1908 edition of The Normal Pennant,
vol. 10, No. 9,
page 14.
Taj
Mahal
How
sharply keen the royal grief
That
carved these stubborn stones
And
placed them row on row.
How
softly warm the kingly tears
That
woke these mines of slumbering gems
And
made them glow.
How
strange that this bejeweled shrine,
This
iridescent vision
Of
the human brain,
Should
rise from out the fumes of love
And
grief that burned within
A
crucible of pain.
- "The
Inner Vision"
- "An
Offering to Henry Meade Bland"
- Published
in The Laureate's Wreath - An Anthology in honor of Dr. Henry
Meade Bland Poet Laureate of California (1934), The Edwin
Markham Poetry Society Chapter of the Poetry Society of London,
page 58
The
Inner Vision
Gently
he lived, gently he died;
His seeking spirit satisfied
If it could voice in tuneful rhyme
The beautiful in space or time.
No
fetters bound him to his task;
Work was a joy, he did not ask
A life of solitude to dream,
Unhampered by the human stream.
His
spirit never lost its youth,
Nor veiled for him the face of truth,
Nor did a faltering faith obscure
An inner vision, steadfast,�sure.
The
pricks of pain, the stabs of fate
Tried vainly to unbar the gate
That kept his spirit in a shrine
Where it could feed on things divine.
Gently
he lived, gently he died;
His seeking spirit satisfied
If it could voice in tuneful rhyme
The beautiful in space or time.
-
"Montalvo"
-
From
David Remembers (1935), page 38. The foreword of this book
thanks the "friends of the San Jose State College Alumni who
shouldered the uninspiring but necessary details of bringing this
book from manuscript to the dignity of the printed
page." The book is dedicated to the "group of men
and women who planned so wisely and so well, and to those
following them who caught the gleam and passed it on" to
create San Jose State College.
Montalvo
Montalvo,
shrine of poesy and art!
Thy living altars set themselves apart
To burn the incense of man's pure desire
Before the smoking, sacrificial fire.
Within
thy sunlight pathways peace is found,
Thy shadowed pools hide mysteries of sound,
Thy rainbow beds of flowers intoxicate
With wine of color, subtly delicate.
An
artist soul envisioned this rare spot,
And spilled his color tubes on sward and ploy
With lavish hands, embodying every hue
Of rose and purple, violet and blue.
Who
but a poet dreamed that emerald pool,
Guarded by stately palms, aloof and cool,
And then, by beauty challenged, caught the lance
Hurled by the giants of the Renaissance.
And
passed it on to those whose souls were lit
With high desire to share the prick of it.
God's smile is mirrored in this sylvan shade,
And man has made that smile his accolade.
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