 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
117
But a stranger is sacred!” She lifted a hand
And she laid it as soft as the breast of a dove
On the minstrel's mouth. It was more than the wand
Of the tamer of serpents, for she did no more
Than to bid with here eyes and to beck with her hand,
And the song drew away to the waves of the shore;
Took wings, as it were, to the verge of the land.
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |