Part 9 (1/2)

You bantered and cantered away your last chance.

And they scourged you, with h.e.l.l in their speech and their faces, O broncho that would not be broken of dancing.

”n.o.body cares for you,” rattled the crows, As you dragged the whole reaper, next day, down the rows.

The three mules held back, yet you danced on your toes.

You pulled like a racer, and kept the mules chasing.

You tangled the harness with bright eyes side-glancing, While the drunk driver bled you--a pole for a lance-- And the giant mules bit at you--keeping their places.

O broncho that would not be broken of dancing.

In that last afternoon your boyish heart broke.

The hot wind came down like a sledge-hammer stroke.

The blood-sucking flies to a rare feast awoke.

And they searched out your wounds, your death-warrant tracing.

And the merciful men, their religion enhancing, Stopped the red reaper, to give you a chance.

Then you died on the prairie, and scorned all disgraces, O broncho that would not be broken of dancing.

Souvenir of Great Bend, Kansas.

The Prairie Battlements

(To Edgar Lee Masters, with great respect.)

Here upon the prairie Is our ancestral hall.

Agate is the dome, Cornelian the wall.

Ghouls are in the cellar, But fays upon the stairs.

And here lived old King Silver Dreams, Always at his prayers.

Here lived grey Queen Silver Dreams, Always singing psalms, And haughty Grandma Silver Dreams, Throned with folded palms.

Here played cousin Alice.

Her soul was best of all.

And every fairy loved her, In our ancestral hall.

Alice has a prairie grave.

The King and Queen lie low, And aged Grandma Silver Dreams, Four tombstones in a row.

But still in snow and suns.h.i.+ne Stands our ancestral hall.

Agate is the dome, Cornelian the wall.