Juan Higera Creek Neither your face, Higera, nor your deeds Are known to me; and death these many years Retains you, under grass or forest-mould. Only a rivulet bears your name: it runs Deep-hidden in undeciduous redwood shade And trunks by age made holy, streaming down A valley of the Santa Lucian hills. There have I stopped, and though the unclouded sun Flew high in loftiest heaven, no dapple of light Flecked the large trunks below the leaves intense, Nor flickered on your creek: murmuring it sought The River of the South, which oceanward Would sweep it down. I drank sweet water there, And blessed your immortality. Not bronze, Higera, nor yet marble cool the thirst; Let bronze and marble of the rich and proud Secure the names; your monument will last Longer, of living water forest-pure. by Robinson Jeffers
Posted on: Tue, 22 Jul 2014 15:48:52 +0000
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