 | Joaquin Miller's Poems
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VII
Their cities zone their sea of seas,
Their white tents top the mountain's crest.
The coward? He trenched not with these,
The weakling? He was laid to rest.
Each man stood forth a man, such men
As God wrought not since time began,
Each man a hero, lion each.
Behold what length of limb, what length
Of life, of love, what daring reach
To deep-hived honeycomb! What strength!
How clean his hands, how stout his heart
To dare, to do, camp, court or mart.
He stands so tall, so clean, he hears
The morning music of the spheres.
| Joaquin Miller's Poems
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