 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
L
At last some rested on an isle;The few strong-breasted, with a smile,
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Scarce counting of the pain or cost,
Scarce recking if they won or lost;
They sought but action, asked no more;
They counted life but as a game,
With full per cent against them, and
Staked all upon a single hand,
And lost or won, content the same.
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |