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Joseph Friedlander, comp. The Standard Book of Jewish Verse. 1917.

By Joaquin Miller

Jewess

MY dark-browed daughter of the Sun,

Dear Bedouin of the desert sands,

Sad daughter of the ravished lands,

Of savage Sinai, Babylon—

O, Egypt-eyed, thou art to me

A God-encompassed mystery.

I see sad Hagar in thy eyes,

The obelisks, the pyramids,

Lie hid beneath thy drooping lids,

The tawny Nile of Moses lies

Portrayed in thy strange people’s force,

And solemn mystery of source.

The black abundance of thy hair

Falls like some sad twilight of June

Above the dying afternoon,

And mourns thy people’s mute despair.

The large solemnity of night,

O Israel, is in thy sight.

Then come where stars of freedom spill

Their splendor, Jewess. In this land,

The same broad hollow of God’s hand

That held you ever, outholds still.

And whether you be right or nay,

’Tis God’s, not Russia’s, here to say.