44
COLLOQUY WITH A COYOTE
I knew another spokesman for my mood— Oh, he was suave, ingratiating, shrewd! When balsams muffled their voices in the cowl Of sable dusk, and tranquil, cool, The beaver-pond was but a chip Of silver, soundless, save for the flip Of a beaver's tail, the flapping of an owl— On such a night as this, When the silver-lady put a kiss Upon the bosom of the pool, The gibbering loon, disconsolate, forlorn, Flinging upon the sky a rain Of silver tones, the tremolo of pain— Would always gain her ear and mourn For me, befriend me; ah, the loonAnd I!—we had an understanding with the moon.
Speak then, O desert coyote, speak for me now.Be to me kinsman in this valley of the dead, This waste so unfamiliar, so dispirited. Among the buffalo-skulls upon the brow Of yonder butte, fling back your head,And stabbing moonward with your wail, impart Our sorrow till it breaks the vestal's heart; Tell the indifferent one that she is beautiful,
