 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
II
From Oro Yarè toward the sea
Slow rounding down the river's source,
Red men, brown men, foot, cavalry,
We marched, a mottled, maniac force—
We rode so close to this dense wood,
So somber, silent, deep and lorn,
That when at last we slow drew rein
The heat was as a choking pain.
The chief stood in his stirrups; stood
With set lips lifted up in scorn
To thus be baffled by a wood
And looked and looked that sultry morn:
The while our allies looked away
As if in dread to say or stay.
Slow rounding down the river's source,
Red men, brown men, foot, cavalry,
We marched, a mottled, maniac force—
We rode so close to this dense wood,
So somber, silent, deep and lorn,
That when at last we slow drew rein
The heat was as a choking pain.
The chief stood in his stirrups; stood
With set lips lifted up in scorn
To thus be baffled by a wood
And looked and looked that sultry morn:
The while our allies looked away
As if in dread to say or stay.
Far, far afield from out the night
Of silent blackness burst a cone
Of comely fashion, marble white,
And lone as God, as white and lone
As God upon the great white throne.
Of silent blackness burst a cone
Of comely fashion, marble white,
And lone as God, as white and lone
As God upon the great white throne.
He beck'd some brown men, bade them say:
Then slow, a sandaled, nude old man,
As if not daring to say nay
Began, fast pointing far away—
Then two, then three, then all began.
Then slow, a sandaled, nude old man,
17
Began, fast pointing far away—
Then two, then three, then all began.
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |