Classic Poem

The new moon floats like a silver canoe,
In the clear Dakotah sky;
And the large stars look from the boundless blue,
With a mystic brilliancy!

Over the prairie for leagues is spread
December's immaculate snow,
Like a white shroud smoothed above the dead,
For the earth is dead below!

And the crimson auroras flicker and gleam,
Like demoniac banners unfurled
In the Hell of a frenzied poet's dream—
Or the flames of a burning world!

From the freezing lakes I can hear the sound
Of the ice as it cracks and roars;
And the distant bay of the famished hound,
Afar on the desolate moors.

But in vain for me the red North shakes
His battle-banners on high;
Or like golden bridges, o'er streams and lakes,
The shafts of the moonlight lie.

There is beauty below, there is splendor above,
But ah, they are nothing to me!
For my heart is afar with the friends I love,
By the shore of the Eastern sea!