Ai, ai, my small red man, Why do you weep on my bosom, Here in the Hut of the Newborn, Fresh from the beak of the Raven, He who made earth from the rain clouds, He who made Queen Charlotte Islands, He who made men from the clam mounds? Long did you lie in a hammock Swung near the Hanging Horizons, Trailing your feathers of swansdown Blown through the masks of Divine Ones, Hearing the Whistlers, the spirits, Pierce the dense blueness of Starland; Lost, until my heart called to you, Lost until my body bore you. Wah, ah wah, my small red man, Welcome, the journey is ended! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CUMBERLAND by HERMAN MELVILLE THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD by THEODORE O'HARA THE OLD MAN'S WISH by WALTER POPE THE CASTLE BY THE SEA by JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND SONGS OF LABOR: DEDICATION by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER DOVE RIVER ANTHOLOGY, BY OWN WILLIAM WORDSWORTH: LUCY GRAY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 3. TO A FRIEND UNSUCCESSFUL IN LOVE by MARK AKENSIDE |