 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
“For we promise so great and we gain so little;
For we promise so great of glory and gold
And we gain so little that the hands grow cold,
And the strained heart-strings wear bare and brittle,
And for gold and glory we but gain instead
A fond heart sicken'd and a fair hope dead.
For we promise so great of glory and gold
And we gain so little that the hands grow cold,
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And for gold and glory we but gain instead
A fond heart sicken'd and a fair hope dead.
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |