 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
XIII
Dusk came, such solemn, stately dusk!
Black clouds blocked up a sky of red,
The hot wood had a smell of musk—
Of dying roses for the dead.
Black clouds blocked up a sky of red,
The hot wood had a smell of musk—
Of dying roses for the dead.
Then lightning was, and thunder low,
Low rumbling lion-like and slow,
Then that dread drum began to beat
A bow-shot front us mid the isle!
Why, they had made a mad retreat—
Were they not marshaling meanwhile?
Low rumbling lion-like and slow,
Then that dread drum began to beat
A bow-shot front us mid the isle!
Why, they had made a mad retreat—
Were they not marshaling meanwhile?
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |