Crossing the Plains

What great yoked brutes with briskets low, With wrinkled necks like buffalo, With round, brown, liquid, pleading eyes, That turned so slow and sad to you, That shone like love’s eyes soft with tears, That seemed to plead, and make replies, The while they bowed their necks and drew The creaking load; and looked at you. Their sable briskets swept the ground, Their cloven feet kept solemn sound. Two sullen bullocks led the line, Their great eyes shining bright like wine; Two sullen captive kings were they, That had in time held herds at bay, And even now they crushed the sod With stolid sense of majesty, And stately stepped and stately trod, As if ’t were something still to be Kings even in captivity.

Collection: 
English
Joaquin Miller

More from Poet

  • Above the Clouds

    ’MID white Sierras, that slope to the sea, Lie turbulent lands. Go dwell in the skies, And the thundering tongues of Yosemitè Shall persuade you to silence, and you shall be wise. I but sing for the love of song and the few Who loved me first and shall love me last; And the storm shall pass...

  • A California Christmas

    BEHOLD where Beauty walks with Peace! Behold where Plenty pours her horn Of fruits, of flowers, fat increase, As generous as light of morn. Green Shasta, San Diego, seas Of bloom and green between them rolled. Great herds in grasses to their knees, And green earth garmented in gold. White...

  • Proem

    From “The Isles of the Amazons,” Part III. COME, lovers, come, forget your pains! I know upon this earth a spot Where clinking coins, that clank as chains Upon the souls of men, are not; Nor man is measured for his gains Of gold that stream with crimson stains. There snow-topped towers crush...

  • Juanita

    you will come, my bird, Bonita? Come! For I by steep and stone Have built such nest for you, Juanita, As not eagle bird hath known. Rugged! Rugged as Parnassus! Rude, as all roads I have trod— Yet are steeps and stone-strewn passes Smooth o’erhead, and nearest God. Here black thunders of...

  • The Voice of the Dove

    Come listen, O Love, to the voice of the dove, Come, hearken and hear him say, There are many To-morrows, my Love, my Love,— There is only one To-day. And all day long you can hear him say This day in purple is rolled, And the baby stars of the milky-way— They are cradled in cradles of gold. Now...