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Joaquin Miller - Poetry

Dead In The Sierras

His footprints have failed us,
Where berries are red,
And madroņos are rankest.
The hunter is dead!
The grizzly may pass
By his half open door;
May pass and repass
On his path, as of yore;
The panther may crouch
In the leaves on his limb;
May scream and may scream,--
It is nothing to him.
Prone, bearded and breasted
Like columns of stone;
And tall as a pine--
As a pine overthrown!
His camp-fires gone,
What else can be done
Than let him sleep on
Till the light of the sun?
Ah, tombless! what of it?
Marble is dust,
Cold and repellent;
And iron is rust.