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Nicholas Vachel Lindsay
89
Then he did leap and sing—
Dancing the clouds among,
Turning the night to noon,
Stinging my eyes with light,
Making the snow retreat,
Making the cave-house bright.
There were dry fagots piled,
Nuts and dry leaves and roots,
Stores there of furs and hides,
Sweet-barks and grains and fruits.
There wrapped in fur we lay,
Half-burned, half-frozen still—
Ne'er will my soul forget
All the night's bitter chill.
We had not learned to speak,
I was to you a strange
Wolfing or wounded fawn,
Lost from his forest-range.
Thirsting for bloody meat,
Out at the dawn we went.
Weighted with our prey at eve,
Home-came we all forespent.
Comrades and hunters tried
Ere we were maid and man—
