 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
XIII
Let men unclean think things unclean;I swear tip-toed, with lifted hand,
That we were pure as sea-wash'd sand,
That not one coarse thought came between;
Believe or disbelieve who will,
Unto the pure all things are pure,
As for the rest, love can endure
Alike your good will or your ill.
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |