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1837–1913

XXII.

Joaquin Miller

And who was he that rested there,— This Hercules, so huge, so rare, This giant of a grander day, This Theseus of a nobler Greece,

This Jason of the golden fleece? And who was he? And who were they That came to seek the hidden gold Long hallowed from the pirate's hold?

I do not know. You need not care. They loved, this maiden and this man, And that is all I surely know,— The rest is as the winds that blow.

He bowed as brave men bow to fate, Yet proud and resolute and bold; She, coy at first, and mute and cold, Held back and seemed to hesitate,—

Half frightened at this love that ran Hard gallop till her hot heart beat Like sounding of swift courser's feet.

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XXII. · Joaquin Miller · Poetry Cove