On Reading George Sterling’s Ode to Shelley

By Laura Bell Everett

Thanks to you, Bard, your song is such as he,
The West Wind, might have poured in rhythmic surge.
Peace to his ashes by the Tiber verge.
Time shall remember that by this far sea,
You sang and built a monument to be
His westmost cenotaph, no weary dirge,
But fervent ode, whose ecstasy shall purge
The mind of all that is not poesy.

Sing yet again—sing through the war's abyss;
Sing through the jungle of material days
And through the dark morass of vicious woe;
Show us the beauty that we hold, yet miss,
The starshine lambent on penumbral ways,—
In vibrant measures sweeter than we know.

The Overland Monthly and Out West Magazine, May 1923, Volume LXXXI, Number 1, pg. 20.