Cross Roads

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?