Who Long Walked Here With Beauty

By Rex Smith

The shore is strangely still along the Bay,
And silent is a city "cool and gray."
From height of Russian Hill, the fairies see
A west wind cross the mountain mournfully.

Wherefore this hour of sombre, purple theme;
Why on the western shore moan shade of dream?

Far off there wails a tender threnody
Of trumpets from some pagan Arcady.
Though maidens chant to lyres of muted strings,
Beyond the clouds a satyr sits and sings...

Whenceforth this hymn of death strange and forlorn?
He slyly asks an ancient unicorn.

Oh, let there be no pious requiem!
Calliope called through the ages dim.
To a minstrel brave give joyous serenade!
Spoke Zeus, offering wine and accolade...

For one who lived right loyally and bold
The fair creed that Olympus gave of old.

Then he, who long had sung in Arcady,
Went smiling with triumphant melody.
And his own hand steered out the galleon
To horizon, and the heights of halcyon.

Ah, Pegasus is prancing there on high
Where centaurs race in splendor through the sky!

Bellerophon shares eternal soul demesne;
And richer is the fount of Hippocrene.
Wherefore a dirge, O city of his singing?
Divine in those immortal echoes ringing.

Enshrine now and fore'er the ways he trod
Who long walked here with beauty...
                              walks with gods!

Overland Monthly and Out West Magazine, November 1927, Volume LXXXV, Number 11, pg 339.