Joaquin Miller's Poems [in six volumes] |
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THAT FAITHFUL WIFE OF IDAHO |
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 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
217
THAT FAITHFUL WIFE OF IDAHO
Huge silver snow-peaks, white as wool,
Huge, sleek, fat steers knee deep in grass,
And belly deep, and belly full,
Their flower beds one fragrant mass
Of flowers, grass tall-born and grand,
Where flowers chase the flying snow!
Oh, high held land in God's right hand,
Delicious, dreamful Idaho!
Huge, sleek, fat steers knee deep in grass,
And belly deep, and belly full,
Their flower beds one fragrant mass
Of flowers, grass tall-born and grand,
Where flowers chase the flying snow!
Oh, high held land in God's right hand,
Delicious, dreamful Idaho!
We rode the rolling cow-sown hills,
That bearded cattle man and I;
Below us laughed the blossomed rills,
Above the dappled clouds blew by.
We talked. The topic? Guess. Why, sir,
Three-fourths of all men's time they keep
To talk, to think, to be of HER;
The other fourth they give to sleep.
That bearded cattle man and I;
Below us laughed the blossomed rills,
Above the dappled clouds blew by.
We talked. The topic? Guess. Why, sir,
Three-fourths of all men's time they keep
To talk, to think, to be of HER;
The other fourth they give to sleep.
To learn what he might know, or how,
I laughed all constancy to scorn.
“Behold yon happy, changeful cow!
Behold this day, all storm at morn,
Yet now 'tis changed by cloud and sun,
Yea, all things change—the heart, the head,
Behold on earth there is not one
That changeth not in love,” I said.
I laughed all constancy to scorn.
“Behold yon happy, changeful cow!
Behold this day, all storm at morn,
Yet now 'tis changed by cloud and sun,
Yea, all things change—the heart, the head,
Behold on earth there is not one
That changeth not in love,” I said.
He drew a glass, as if to scan
The steeps for steers; raised it and sighed.
He craned his neck, this cattle man,
Then drove the cork home and replied:
“For twenty years (forgive these tears),
For twenty years no word of strife—
I have not known for twenty years
One folly from my faithful wife.”
The steeps for steers; raised it and sighed.
He craned his neck, this cattle man,
Then drove the cork home and replied:
“For twenty years (forgive these tears),
For twenty years no word of strife—
218
One folly from my faithful wife.”
I looked that tarn man in the face—
That dark-browed, bearded cattle man.
He pulled his beard, then dropped in place
A broad right hand, all scarred and tan,
And toyed with something shining there
Above his holster, bright and small.
I was convinced. I did not care
To agitate his mind at all.
That dark-browed, bearded cattle man.
He pulled his beard, then dropped in place
A broad right hand, all scarred and tan,
And toyed with something shining there
Above his holster, bright and small.
I was convinced. I did not care
To agitate his mind at all.
But rest I could not. Know I must
The story of my stalwart guide;
His dauntless love, enduring trust;
His blesséd and most wondrous bride.
I wondered, marveled, marveled much;
Was she of Western growth? Was she
Of Saxon blood, that wife with such
Eternal truth and constancy?
The story of my stalwart guide;
His dauntless love, enduring trust;
His blesséd and most wondrous bride.
I wondered, marveled, marveled much;
Was she of Western growth? Was she
Of Saxon blood, that wife with such
Eternal truth and constancy?
I could not rest until I knew—
“Now twenty years, my man,” I said,
“Is a long time.” He turned, he drew
A pistol forth, also a sigh.
“'Tis twenty years or more,” sighed he.
“Nay, nay, my honest man, I vow
I do not doubt that this may be;
But tell, oh! tell me truly how?”
“Now twenty years, my man,” I said,
“Is a long time.” He turned, he drew
A pistol forth, also a sigh.
“'Tis twenty years or more,” sighed he.
“Nay, nay, my honest man, I vow
I do not doubt that this may be;
But tell, oh! tell me truly how?”
“'Twould make a poem, pure and grand;
All time should note it near and far;
And thy fair, virgin, gold-sown land
Should stand out like some winter star.
America should heed. And then
The doubtful French beyond the sea—
'Twould make them truer, nobler men
To know how this might truly be.”
All time should note it near and far;
And thy fair, virgin, gold-sown land
Should stand out like some winter star.
America should heed. And then
219
'Twould make them truer, nobler men
To know how this might truly be.”
“'Tis twenty years or more, urged he;
“Nay, that I know, good guide of mine;
But lead me where this wife may be,
And I a pilgrim at a shrine,
And kneeling as a pilgrim true”—
He, leaning, shouted loud and clear:
“I cannot show my wife to you;
She's dead this more than twenty year.”
“Nay, that I know, good guide of mine;
But lead me where this wife may be,
And I a pilgrim at a shrine,
And kneeling as a pilgrim true”—
He, leaning, shouted loud and clear:
“I cannot show my wife to you;
She's dead this more than twenty year.”
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |