 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
“Four full hands, and a finger over!
‘She does not know me, her truant lover,’
I said to myself, for her brow was a-frown
As I stepp'd still nearer, with my head held down,
All abash'd and in blushes my brown face over;
‘She does not know me, her long lost lover,
For my beard's so long and my skin's so brown
That I well might pass myself for another.’
So I lifted my voice and I spake aloud:
‘Annette, my darling! Annette Macleod!’
She started, she stopped, she turn'd, amazed,
She stood all wonder, her eyes wild-wide,
Then turn'd in terror down the dusk wayside,
And cried as she fled, ‘The man he is crazed,
And he calls the maiden name of my mother!’
‘She does not know me, her truant lover,’
I said to myself, for her brow was a-frown
As I stepp'd still nearer, with my head held down,
All abash'd and in blushes my brown face over;
‘She does not know me, her long lost lover,
For my beard's so long and my skin's so brown
That I well might pass myself for another.’
So I lifted my voice and I spake aloud:
‘Annette, my darling! Annette Macleod!’
She started, she stopped, she turn'd, amazed,
She stood all wonder, her eyes wild-wide,
Then turn'd in terror down the dusk wayside,
And cried as she fled, ‘The man he is crazed,
And he calls the maiden name of my mother!’
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |