Louie Strentzel Muir
From Cry of the Human The plague of gold strikes far & near And deep and strong it enters. This purple chimar which we wear, makes madder than the centaur’s: Our thoughts grow blank, our words grow strange, We cheer the pale gold-diggers – Each soul is worth so much on ’change, And marked, like sheep with figures. Be pitiful, O God! The house of clouds Bring a grey cloud from the east where the lark us singing (Something of the song at least Unlost in the bringing) That shall be a morning chair Wisdom unapplied I would not champ the hard cold bit As thou – of what the world thinks fit But take Gods [freedom] using it Human lifes mystery The senses folding thick & dark About the stifled soul within We guess diviner things beyond And yearn to [them with yearning fond We strike out blindly to a mark Believed in but not seen Suppose Some hell-brood in Eden’s sweet greenery Convoked for creating a rose! Would it suit the infernal machinery Lessons from the Gorse Mountain Gorses ever golden The North and South Yet oh for the skies that are softer & high Sighed the north to the south For the flowers that blaze & the tress that aspire And the insects made of a song or a fire Sighed the north to the South Mrs. Brownings Poems
Original letter dimensions unknown.
Browning, [ ], "Letter [Poems] from Mrs. Browning to Mrs. Muir [Louie Strentzel Muir]" (1900). John Muir Correspondence (PDFs). 6788.
No date Mrs Brownings Poems
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