Joaquin Miller's Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Wreathe ye who may the victor's bay,
Fill book on book with battles, then
Fill every public park you may
With iron-fashioned fighting men
Begirt with blade and cannon ball,
With not one woman's plinth mid all.

But she who rocks the cradle, she
Who croons and rocks all day, all night,
And knows no public place or name
Makes far the better, braver fight,
Deserves a nobler, fairer fame
Than all bronze men of historie.

The foot that rocks the babe to rest
Keeps step, keeps song with singing dawn.
The hand that holds the babe to breast

Is sceptered as King Solomon.
And yet, for all she does, has done,
Has not one monument, not one!