 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
XXIII
Birds hung and swung, green-robed and red,Or drooped in curved lines dreamily,
Rainbows reversed, from tree to tree,
10
Sang low, as if they sang and slept,
Sang faint like some far waterfall,
And took no note of us at all,
Though nuts that in the way were spread
Did crash and crackle where we stept.
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |