 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
My city sits amid her palms;
The perfume of her twilight breath
Is something as the sacred balms
That bound sweet Jesus after death,
Such soft, warm twilight sense as lies
Against the gates of Paradise.
The perfume of her twilight breath
Is something as the sacred balms
That bound sweet Jesus after death,
Such soft, warm twilight sense as lies
Against the gates of Paradise.
Such prayerful palms, wide palms upreached!
This sea mist is as incense smoke,
Yon mission walls a sermon preached—
White lily with a heart of oak.
And O, this twilight! O the grace
Of twilight on yon lifted face!
This sea mist is as incense smoke,
Yon mission walls a sermon preached—
White lily with a heart of oak.
And O, this twilight! O the grace
Of twilight on yon lifted face!
I love you, twilight,—love with love
So loyal, loving, fond that I
When folding these worn hands to die,
Shall pray God lead me not above,
But leave me, twilight, sad and true,
To walk this lonesome world with you.
So loyal, loving, fond that I
When folding these worn hands to die,
Shall pray God lead me not above,
But leave me, twilight, sad and true,
To walk this lonesome world with you.
Yea, God knows I have walked with night;
I have not seen, I have not known
Such light as beats upon His throne.
I know I could not bear such light;
Therefore, I beg, sad sister true,
To share your shadow-world with you.
I have not seen, I have not known
Such light as beats upon His throne.
I know I could not bear such light;
Therefore, I beg, sad sister true,
To share your shadow-world with you.
I love you, love you, maid of night,
Your perfumed breath, your dreamful eyes,
Your holy silences, your sighs
Of mateless longing; your delight
When might says, Hang on yon moon's horn
Your russet gown, and rest till morn.
Your perfumed breath, your dreamful eyes,
Your holy silences, your sighs
Of mateless longing; your delight
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Your russet gown, and rest till morn.
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |