Yosemite National Park, California
Waiting to-night for the moon to rise
O’er the cliffs that narrow Yosemite’s skies;
Waiting for darkness to melt away
In the silver light of a midnight day;
Waiting, like one in a waking dream,
I stand alone by the rushing stream.
Alone, in a temple vast and grand,
With spire and turret on every hand;
A world’s cathedral, with walls sublime,
Chiselled and carved by the hand of Time;
And over all heaven’s crowning dome,
Whence gleam the beacon-lights of home.
(Excerpt from The Yosemite by Wallace Bruce)
Down from the Heavens
a galaxy of falling stars
a million white-winged doves
love weaves a daisy chain
rainbows of melting snows
ice to mist
singing to the craggy steep
leaping to my emerald deep
cool in granite fold
I am the song of the world
a moment old.
A scene sublime is here disclos’d
Mountain and vale, with streams between;
A verdurous garden, far outspread,
With drooping woods of living green;
And the Sierras snow-clad crest
With all their plumy pine-trees drest.
The tourist, lost in wonder, looks
O’er mountain ranges white and vast,
Crown’d with the everlasting snows,
Swept by the fierce, tempestuous blast.
(excerpt from The Yosemite Valley by Isaac McClellan)
Beat! beat! beat!
We advance, but would retreat
From this restless, broken breast
Of the earth in a convulsion.
We would rest, but dare not rest,
For the angel of expulsion
From this Paradise below
Waves run onward and . . . we go.
(Excerpt from Yosemite by Joaquin Miller)