I hear a sound, like music through the gale,
Of kindred calling down the old-time trail.

The morning winds, for many, many morns,
Have pulsed with tramping feet, and clashing horns.

And in the burning noons of summer days,
Above the dust I've seen the heat's blue blaze.

And centaur spirits flash before my eyes,
Swifter than meteors through starry skies.
And voices far and faint ring in my ears,
Now soft to soothe, now shrill to waken fears.

I see, I hear, I feel, for through me runs
Tempests of fires and floods, and stars and suns.

For there, beyond the hemming fence and hedge,
I see where earth and sky meet edge to edge.

And all the world between that bound and me,
My kindred once possessed, and roamed in, free.

There bone and sinew, and pure hardihood,
They strove with Nature in her every mood.

Hunger and thirst, these did they understand,
And flood and fire that swept the sun-scorched land.

And these were guarded by the earth and sky
Locked edge to edge, letting no foe come by.

And Nature's gifts they took, and understood,
But Man's they scorned — shelter, and care and food.

They knew the wild. There freedom was at flood,
Its spirit flowing high-tide in their blood.

But they are gone. There must be plains somewhere
Without Man's proffered shelter, food and care.

For I can hear the lowings of my kind,
Soft and content, come flowing down the wind.

And in the night a loving voice and low,
Inquiring wakes me — just like long ago.
True to the past, our common fate I face
Death — unsubdued — the last one of my race.