 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
XXIV
You lift your face to ask of her,This wine-hued woman, warm sun-maid,
This wine-hued woman warm as wine,
So purely and so surely mine,
Who loved, who dared, was not afraid—
37
I never knew or sought to know;
I cared not what she might have been;
I only knew she was such queen
As only death could overthrow.
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |