 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
LVII
The days and grass grow long together;They now fell short and crisp again,
And all the fair face of the main
Grew dark and wrinkled as the weather.
Through all the summer sun's decline
Fell news of triumphs and defeats,
Of hard advances, hot retreats—
Then days and days and not a line.
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |