Crossing The Plains
Joaquin Miller
hat great yoked brutes with briskets low- With wrinkled necks like buffalo,
- With round, brown, liquid, pleading eyes,
- That turn'd so slow and sad to you,
- That shone like love's eyes soft with tears
- That seem'd to plead, and make replies,
- The while they bow'd their necks and drew
- The creaking load; and look'd 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 crush'd the sod
- With stolid sense of majesty,
- And stately stepp'd and stately trod,
- As if 'twere something still to be
- Kings even in captivity.