 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
XXVII
Yet what to her were burning seas,Or what to him was forest flame?
They loved; they loved the glorious trees;
The gleaming tides might rise or fall,—
They loved the whispering winds that came
20
With breath not warmer than their own;
They loved, they loved,—and that was all.
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |