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Shapes of Clay

by Ambrose Bierce

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Geotheos

As sweet as the look of a lover
 Saluting the eyes of a maid,
 That blossom to blue as the maid
Is ablush to the glances above her,
 The sunshine is gilding the glade
 And lifting the lark out of shade.

Sing therefore high praises, and therefore
 Sing songs that are ancient as gold,
 Of Earth in her garments of gold;
Nor ask of their meaning, nor wherefore
 They charm as of yore, for behold!
 The Earth is as fair as of old.

Sing songs of the pride of the mountains,
 And songs of the strength of the seas,
 And the fountains that fall to the seas
From the hands of the hills, and the fountains
 That shine in the temples of trees,
 In valleys of roses and bees.

Sing songs that are dreamy and tender,
  Of slender Arabian palms,
  And shadows that circle the palms,
Where caravans, veiled from the splendor,
  Are kneeling in blossoms and balms,
  In islands of infinite calms.

Barbaric, O Man, was thy runing
  When mountains were stained as with wine
  By the dawning of Time, and as wine
Were the seas, yet its echoes are crooning,
  Achant in the gusty pine
  And the pulse of the poet’s line.

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