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But year by year I wait and wait and wait,

And year by year I linger in despair; Yet still I hear the stern decree of Fate;

"No rain, No rain!" through white-hot noons a-glare.

O God, remember I was dear to Thee

In green, glad mornings ere I felt Thy frown. I am Thy daughter; hear and pity me,

Accurst and fruitless, withered, barren, brown!

A gray-haired virgin, still unwooed, unwed,

I waste away unloved and all alone; My bosom is a dried-up river bed,

The heart within it but a dusty stone.

O, all Thy gifts are held beyond my grasp;

I am a woman; let me sweetly rest, To feel a lover's arms around me clasp,

A tiny infant cooing on my breast!

No rain, no dew, from cruel sky or sea;

In restless, raging passion here I lie. Like Rachel I am crying out to Thee,

"God, give me children, or else let me die!”

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Dove of the desert, so wild and so free,

What nook in this waste is dear unto thee? Around you I see the dead cactus stand,

And brown, withered weeds on hot hills of sand. Here yawns the red gully, here burns the dead plain,

Here hang the sharp rocks, all thirsty for rain. O dove of the desert, so wild and so free,

What spot in these barrens is blest unto thee?

Dove of the desert, around thee are spread,

In the alkali dust, the bones of the dead. No spring can be seen, no blossom uprears

Through the bayonet-bush with its porcupine spears. No cloud cools the brow of the hot, fevered plain,

Unbaptized, unblest, with the patter of rain. O dove of the desert, as meek as a child, What charm brings thee here to this death-haunted


Dove of the desert, you find a sweet rest

When sinking at night to sleep on your nest. The desert is barren, and sterile and hot,

Yet it gives to your heart a consecrate spot. I traverse great cities, yet I find no home,

On the crowded streets I in solitude roam. There out in the desert, you mate with your own,

Dove of the desert, I fare forth alone.


Pasadena, charming town,
Wears a fruit-and-flower crown.
There the tendrils, boughs and twigs
Bend with lemons, grapes or figs.
Purple bougainvillea vines
Interlace with palms and pines,
And the buff and crimson cannas
Wave beside broad-leaved bananas.

In the dallying ocean breeze
Swing the feathery pepper-trees;
Here nasturtiums, orange-red,
Wreathe the scarlet salvia-bed;
Here are lilies, pink or pied,
Spotted like a leopard's hide;
Here the marigold in yellow
Mocks the apricot grown mellow.
Morning glories float and flow
Like a cloud of indigo;
Blooming eucalyptus trees'
Blood-hued clusters tempt the bees;
Rank geraniums fringe the ways
With a splendid sunset blaze;
Like a flamed-robed Witch of Endor
Yon hibiscus shines in splendor.


Green pomegranates' blossom-stars
Glare and glow like angry Mars;
Here lantana clusters burn,
Trumpet-flowers with passion yearn.
Here are cactus, fuschia, rose,
Oleanders' fragrant snows,
Blue solanum, red tacoma,
Heliotrope with blest aroma.

Here are scattered on her slopes
Strawberries, melons, cantaloupes;
Here the golden orange clings,
Here the odorous grape-fruit swings.
Here are dangling in your reach
Olive, plum, and pear and peach,
Purple aster, red verbena,
Saffron poppy,-Pasadena!


Mountain brook, wild mountain brook,
Roaring through this rocky nook,
Tell me why you twist and toss
On from couch to couch of moss?
Tell me why your spirit yearns,
Heedless of caressing ferns,
And the laurel's pleading look
As she begs you linger, brook?

Hear the murmur of the pines,
Heed the kiss of columbines:
How they call to you to stay
Ere you leap your headlong way!
Yet in foaming haste you go,
Far from parent peaks of snow,
Leaping cream-white cascades down,
Speeding to yon lowland town.

Pause, O, pause before you leap
Down this vine-entangled steep!
Linger here with peaks of snow
Flushed with morn's carnation glow;
Linger here in hemlock bowers,
Play with rhododendron flowers;
Linger here in youth and joy,
Like a bonny blithesome boy!

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