THAT FAITHFUL WIFE OF IDAHO
JOAQUIN MILLER
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!
We rode the rolling cow-sown hills,
That bearded cattleman and I;
Below us laughed the blossomed rills,
Above, the dappled clouds flew 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 changethe 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.
