II The Pioneer
I creep along, but silently,
For, oh, the dawn is coming;
I creep along, for I have heard
A flint-tipped arrow, humming;
And I have heard a snapping twig,
Above the wind’s low laughter;
And I have known—and thrilled to know,
That swift THEY followed after!
The forest turns from black to grey,
The leaves are silver-shining;
But I have heard a far-off call—
The war-whoop’s sullen whining.
And I have been a naked form,
Among the tree trunks prowling;
And I have glimpsed a savage face,
That faded from me, scowling.
A rosy color sweeps the sky,
A vagrant lark is singing,
But, as I steal along the trail,
I know that day is bringing
A host of red-skins in its train,
Their tommy-hawks are gleaming—
I SEE THEM NOW; or can it be
The first pale sunlight beaming?
I creep along, but stealthily,
For, oh, the dawn is coming!
I creep along—but I have heard
A flint-tipped arrow, humming....
And yet, my heart is light, inside,
My soul, itself, is flying
To greet the dawn! I AM ALIVE—
AND WHAT IS DEATH—BUT DYING?