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Joaquin Miller's Poems

[in six volumes]

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95

“The pines bow'd over, the stream bent under,
The cabin was cover'd with thatches of palm
Down in a cañon so deep, the wonder
Was what it could know in its clime but calm;
Down in a cañon so cleft asunder
By sabre-stroke in the young world's prime,
It look'd as if broken by bolts of thunder,
And burst asunder and rent and riven
By earthquakes driven that turbulent time
The red cross lifted red hands to heaven.