II ON THE PRAIRIE

The wind is coming to me, Coming to me with coolness, Coming to me with fullness, Breathing upon me—— The Spirit Wind. Fanned onward by wings cloud-feathered, Soft with white snow, gray with misty rain, Fragrant and freshening, come the winds—— The Spirit Winds. They breathe upon my body, They lave me in their coolness, With their fullness they obliterate me.... Death, too, is a Spirit; Death, too, is a Wind.

Whirling dust-clouds dance on the prairies—— Whirling the dust-clouds dance! Her loosened hair swirls like a dust-cloud! Her lithe brown arms are tossing aloft! I see her white teeth flash as she smiles! Ah, ah! I am a dust-cloud whirling! Ah, ah! I am a dancing warrior! I dance, dance, dance, on the prairies! I dissolve.... Into dust....

Great Heads, rolling over the lands.... Giant Heads, tumbling, leaping, pursuing! Tangled and shaggy, gnashing their cannibal jaws, Bellowing with the winds, they come.... The lightning reveals them, eyeless, infuriated, Leaping over the lands—Great Heads, pursuing! Are they the Race of the Shamefully Dead? Forever dishonored, forever enraged? Great Heads, tumbling, leaping, gnashing.... The place of their rest no man hath discovered.

I am the Thunder, I am the Thunder,—— Sometimes I go Pitying myself.... Sometimes in wonder Grieving through the skies.... Many Thunders are gone, Many Thunders are flown In the old days,—— Great Birds of Night, Rain-laden Birds With flame-blinking eyes.... I am the Thunder, I am the Thunder,—— Oft-times alone, Oft-times in wonder Pitying myself.... Oft-times in fright Of mine own sounding words, Grieving through the night,—— I, the winged Thunder....

Are they men who come out of the silence to walk beside me? Are they gods who flit with invisible wings?

The footfalls of many feet are on the prairies, Treading softly, like the rustling of shaken grasses; In the air about me is a sound scarce audible, As of the wings of silent birds, low-flying.... What are they that move in the luminous mid-day, Invisibly, intangibly?... It is hot and whisperingly still; I see only the quivering air there on the far horizon, And beyond it a lake of cool water lifted into the sky: Pleasant groves are growing beside it, Very distant I see them.... Are these men come out of the silence to walk beside me? Are these gods who flit with invisible wings?

Whipped onwards by the North Wind The air is filled with the dust of driven snow: The earth is hidden, The sky is hidden, All things are hidden,—— The air is filled with stinging, Before, behind, above, below,—— Who can turn his face from it?... All the animals drift mourning, mourning.... Only the Gray Wolf laughs. Who are ye who wallow in the winds? Who are ye who strike with stinging blows?... Man-beings out of the North? Beast-beings out of the North? Shadow-beings with fingers of thin ice?... I am a Daughter of the South: My lips are soft, my breath is warm, My heart is beating wildly,—— I cannot live in the cold.... All my animals drift mourning, mourning.... Only the gaunt Gray Wolf is laughing. Tomorrow three suns will rise, side by side; All the earth will be covered with dazzling snow,—— Cold, cold, and very quiet.... The animals will lie buried in snow,—— Cold, and very quiet.... But the gaunt Gray Wolf will break a new trail, Running, with three shadows, blue upon the snow.

With his hooked beak, With his hooked talons, With battle-plumes outspread,—— His beak is a driven lance-head; His talons are scarlet arrows, His voice is a war-cry! When he circles the sky The birds suddenly cease their singing, The rabbit becomes rigid. “The hurricane is my horse, “The black tornado is my charger, “Earth trembles where I strike!” Wherefore do you fear, O Warrior? For the strongest there is a Fate: The Eagle, also, dies.

Wide is the trail of many buffalo.

Very pleasant are the prairies, oh! Wide is the trail of many buffalo; Here it was our fathers wandered through the moons of long ago, Following on the trails that lead to and fro.... Very pleasant are the grassy prairies, oh! Following on the trail of many buffalo.... Ah, where went our elders, thither all must go.