Summer Holiday

　　by Robinson Jeffers

　　 When the sun shouts and people abound

　　 One thinks there were the ages of stone and the age of

　　 bronze

　　 And the iron age； iron the unstable metal；

　　 Steel made of iron， unstable as his mother； the tow-

　　 ered-up cities

　　 Will be stains of rust on mounds of plaster.

　　 Roots will not pierce the heaps for a time， kind rains

　　 will cure them，

　　 Then nothing will remain of the iron age

　　 And all these people but a thigh-bone or so， a poem

　　 Stuck in the world's thought， splinters of glass

　　 In the rubbish dumps， a concrete dam far off in the

　　 mountain......