10
FLYING MOCCASINS
The cooing wood-dove has slipped her sleepy head
beneath her downy wings;
and the hermit-thrush
with his running-water notes
will pipe his song no longer.
The eyes of the many little stars are peering down
upon me from the sky steadily;
And the wan and sickly moon is smiling yellowly at me—
I do not like the many little peering eyes,
I do not like the smiling yellow moon;
I love the sun that dances down the sky
with a swirl of scarlet robes,
her head flung back over her shoulder,
a taunting smile on her vermilion face. . . .
And now the flutings of my little Bée-bee-gwun avail me no longer;
For you have flown away from me, you have flown away from me
like the sun that slipped down behind the willows
trailing her purple veils behind her
on the shimmering waters of my lake
and over the edge of the world.
But tomorrow the sun will come back to me,
the sun will come back tomorrow,
My little Pigeon-Woman,
My Kah-lée-lee-óh-kah-láy-kway!
beneath her downy wings;
and the hermit-thrush
with his running-water notes
will pipe his song no longer.
The eyes of the many little stars are peering down
upon me from the sky steadily;
And the wan and sickly moon is smiling yellowly at me—
I do not like the many little peering eyes,
I do not like the smiling yellow moon;
I love the sun that dances down the sky
with a swirl of scarlet robes,
her head flung back over her shoulder,
a taunting smile on her vermilion face. . . .
And now the flutings of my little Bée-bee-gwun avail me no longer;
For you have flown away from me, you have flown away from me
like the sun that slipped down behind the willows
trailing her purple veils behind her
on the shimmering waters of my lake
and over the edge of the world.
But tomorrow the sun will come back to me,
the sun will come back tomorrow,
My little Pigeon-Woman,
My Kah-lée-lee-óh-kah-láy-kway!
