 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
XIX
And plaintive so she gave a sign,A token cut of virgin gold,
That all her tribe should ever hold
Its wearer as some one divine,
Nor touch him with unkindly hand.
And I in turn gave her a blade,
A dagger, worn as well by maid
As man, in that hot-temper'd land.
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |