Lin McLean

IN THE AFTER-DAYS

                The black pines stand high up the hills,
                  The white snow sifts their columns deep,
                While through the canyon's riven cleft
                  From there, beyond, the rose clouds sweep.

                Serene above their paling shapes
                  One star hath wakened in the sky.
                And here in the gray world below
                  Over the sage the wind blows by;

                Rides through the cotton-woods' ghost-ranks,
                  And hums aloft a sturdy tune
                Among the river's tawny bluffs,
                  Untenanted as is the moon.

                Far 'neath the huge invading dusk
                  Comes Silence awful through the plain;
                But yonder horseman's heart is gay,
                  And he goes singing might and main.