Joaquin Miller's Poems [in six volumes] |
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 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
And strangely still, and more strangely sweet,
Was the lake that lay in its cradle of fern,
As still as a moon with her horns that turn
In the night, like lamps to white delicate feet.
Was the lake that lay in its cradle of fern,
As still as a moon with her horns that turn
In the night, like lamps to white delicate feet.
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |