 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
XXIII
Oh Love, so fair of promises,Bend here thy bow, blow here thy kiss,
Bend here thy bow above the storm
But once, if only this once more!
Comes there no patient Christ to save,
Touch and reanimate thy form
Long three days dead and in the grave?
Yea, spread ye now thy silken net;
Since fortunes change, turn and forget,
Since man must fall for some sharp sin,
Be thou the pit that I fall in;
I seek no safer fall than this.
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |