Identifier: sanfrancwat4192581930spri (find matches)
Title: San Francisco water
Year: 1922 (1920s)
Authors: Spring Valley Water Company (San Francisco, Calif.)
Subjects: Water-supply
Publisher: San Francisco, Calif. : Spring Valley Water Co.
Contributing Library: San Francisco Public Library
Digitizing Sponsor: California State Library Califa/LSTA Grant

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o more regretthan a bird quitting a twig. This was somewhere between 7 oclock ofTuesday night and noon yesterday. No mat-ter when. For the curtain had fallen on thedrama of San Franciscos Bohemia in whichhe had been master of revelry for two goldenand charming decades. The Dionysian had drunk the cup to thelees, and found the end of life bitter. Thereason for living was past finding out. He said good-by to no one. To say good-bywould have caused his friends grief. Theyare many, and they all wept, for he was anexquisite poet, and a charming and loyalfriend. I last saw him two weeks ago. We hadwalked arm in arm through dense fog atmidnight, and we parted after a stop at astreet corner where he talked on friendship. I hope the best thing any one will sayabout me, he said, is that George was aRoman for friendship, and that he learnedthe lesson from his master, Ambrose Bierce. He turned abruptly and disappeared intothe fog with his shapeless hat oddly perched July, 1928 SAN FRANCISCO WATER
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Men who loved George Sterling:John Henry Nash, A. M. Robertson, Haig Patigian, Uda Waldrop, Albert Bender, Edward H. Hamilton on his gray hair. He lived, a poignant,lonely, mournful figure, with his pinchedDantean face fallen on his shoulder like amedieval saint on a church window. He had an accountable reason for disap-pearing thus. He loved the fog. He cele-brated it in the lines: Though the dark be cold and blind,Yet her sea-fogs touch is kind,And her mightier caressIs joy and pain thereof;And great is thy tenderness,O cool, grey city of love! Lest anyone who entered the room findanything that might be taken as a farewell,he burnt all his letters and photographs, ex-cept those that hung framed on the wall. Inone of these was exhibited the handsomesardonic face of Ambrose Bierce. He hadbeen meditating a life of this old friend whohad so influenced his life. The sole data hehad gotten together so far was a clipping ofthe poem Sterling had writen on him. It was one stanza, penned afte

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