Lone Mountain

(Cemetery, San Francisco.)

This is that hill of awe
That Persian Sindbad saw,--
  The mount magnetic;
And on its seaward face,
Scattered along its base,
  The wrecks prophetic.

Here come the argosies
Blown by each idle breeze,
  To and fro shifting;
Yet to the hill of Fate
All drawing, soon or late,--
  Day by day drifting;--

Drifting forever here
Barks that for many a year
  Braved wind and weather;
Shallops but yesterday
Launched on yon shining bay,--
  Drawn all together.

This is the end of all:
Sun thyself by the wall,
  O poorer Hindbad!
Envy not Sindbad's fame:
Here come alike the same,
  Hindbad and Sindbad.