Black Beetles in Amber

In fair Yosemite, that den of thieves

Wherein the minions of the moon divide

The travelers' purses, lo! the Devil grieves,

His larger share as leader still denied.

El Capitan, foreseeing that his reign

May be disputed too, beclouds his head.

The joyous Bridal Veil is torn in twain

And the crêpe steamer dangles there instead.

The Vernal Fall abates her pleasant speed

And hesitates to take the final plunge,

For rumors reach her that another greed

Awaits her in the Valley of the Sponge.

The Brothers envy the accord of mind

And peace of purpose (by the good deplored

As honor among Commissioners) which bind

That confraternity of crime, the Board.

The Half-Dome bows its riven face to weep,

But not, as formerly, because bereft:

Prophetic dreams afflict him when asleep

Of losing his remaining half by theft.

Ambitious knaves! has not the upper sod

Enough of room for every crime that crawls

But you must loot the Palaces of God

And daub your filthy names upon the walls?