For, while my pencil’s trailing and I’ve half forgot my theme,
I, too, am seeing visions, as my grandsire used to dream.
WHEN LITTLE SISTER CAME[14]
By Joaquin Miller
We dwelt in the woods of the Tippe-canoe,
In a lone lost cabin, with never a view
Of the full day’s sun for a whole year through.
With strange half hints through the russet corn
We children were hurried one night. Next morn