Black Beetles in Amber

Shall pass without obstruction through your dust.
Another movement of the pendulum,
And, lo! the desert-haunting wolf shall come,
  And, seated on the spot, shall howl by night
O'er rotting cities, desolate and dumb.

ON THE PLATFORM

When Dr. Bill Bartlett stepped out of the hum
  Of Mammon's distracting and wearisome strife
To stand and deliver a lecture on 'Some
  Conditions of Intellectual Life,'
I cursed the offender who gave him the hall
To lecture on any conditions at all!
But he rose with a fire divine in his eye,
  Haranguing with endless abundance of breath,
Till I slept; and I dreamed of a gibbet reared high,
  And Dr. Bill Bartlett was dressing for death.
And I thought in my dream: 'These conditions, no doubt,
Are bad for the life he was talking about.'
So I cried (pray remember this all was a dream):
  'Get off of the platform!—it isn't the kind!'
But he fell through the trap, with a jerk at the beam,
  And wiggled his toes to unburden his mind.
And, O, so bewitching the thoughts he advanced,
That I clung to his ankles, attentive, entranced!

A DAMPENED ARDOR

The Chinatown at Bakersfield
  Was blazing bright and high;
The flames to water would not yield,
  Though torrents drenched the sky
And drowned the ground for miles around—
  The houses were so dry.
Then rose an aged preacher man
  Whom all did much admire,
Who said: 'To force on you my plan
  I truly don't aspire,
But streams, it seems, might quench these beams
  If turned upon the fire.'
The fireman said: 'This hoary wight
  His folly dares to thrust
On us! 'Twere well he felt our might—
  Nay, he shall feel our must!'
With jet of wet and small regret
  They laid that old man's dust.

ADAIR WELCKER, POET

The Swan of Avon died—the Swan
Of Sacramento'll soon be gone;
And when his death-song he shall coo,
Stand back, or it will kill you too.

TO A WORD-WARRIOR

Frank Pixley, you, who kiss the hand
  That strove to cut the country's throat,
  Cannot forgive the hands that smote
Applauding in a distant land,—
Applauding carelessly, as one
  The weaker willing to befriend
  Until the quarrel's at an end,
Then learn by whom it was begun.
When North was pitted against South
  Non-combatants on either side
  In calculating fury vied,
And fought their foes by word of mouth.
That devil's-camisade you led
  With formidable feats of tongue.
  Upon the battle's rear you hung—
With Samson's weapon slew the dead!
So hot the ardor of your soul
  That every fierce civilian came,