 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
26
XVII
Her voice was low, low leaned her head,Her two white hands all helpless prest
As if to hush her aching breast,
As if to bid her aching heart
To silent bear its bitter part,
The while she choking, sobbing, said:
“Then here, for all our poppy days,
Here, here, the parting of the ways?”
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |