Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/168

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Then from the swale, where shadows pranced grotesquelySolemn, like phantom puppets on a string,A cry—pointed, brittle, perpendicular—As startling as a thin stiff blade of iceLaid swift and sharp on fever-burning flesh:The tremulous wail of a lonely shivering wolf,Piercing the world's great heart like an icy sword. . .
  "Look! . . . Quick! . . . Ah-déek! . . . Somebody's dere! . . .  Ain't? . . . He's come—he's come for me—for me!  Me—me, I go! . . . . . . . My Caribou . . .  Dose fire—dose fire she's going out—she's cold . . .  T'row—t'row on dose knots of pine . . . Meegwétch! . . .  And pull 'way from dose flame—dose pan of sour-dough,  If you want eat—in de morning—damn-good flapjack . . .
  "Sh-sh-sh-sh! . . . Somet'ing's dere! . . . You hear-um? . . . ain't? . . .  Somebody—somebody's dere, calling . . . calling . . .  I go . . . I go—me! . . . me . . . I go...".
III: TALKING WATERSO eagle whose whistling wings have known the liftOf high mysterious hands, and the wild sweet musicOf big winds among the ultimate stars,The black-robes put you in a box of God,Seeking in honest faith and holy zealTo lay upon your lips new songs, to swellThe chorus of amens and hallelujahs.O bundle of copper bones tossed in a hole,Here in the place-of-death—God's fenced-in ground—

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