Through a mist of tears I watch the years
Of my youth go by again—
The golden years when the pioneers
First peopled an unknown plain.

By our camp fire's gleam on a far off stream,
Like a light in a drifting haze,
I journey back by the old dim track
That leads to the vanished days:

As the phantom trains of the wind-swept plains
In shadowy outline pass,
The cottonwood trees stir with the breeze
That ripples the prairie grass.

The prairies swoon in the radiant noon,
And I catch the lost perfume
Of the cactus blent with the faint sweet scent
Of the yucca's waxen bloom.

The cattle drink at the river's brink
At the close of the peaceful day—
They are dim-seen ghosts of the trampling hosts
That, far-flung, once held sway.

I hear the beat of a horse's feet
And a note from a night-bird's throat,—
The deadly purr of a rattler's whir,
And the bark of a lone coyote:

And the muffled thrum of the Indian drum
As it beats a weird tattoo
For the wild war dance—the old romance
Still stirs me through and through!

The trail grows dim … Ah, now the rim
Of the sunset sky bends low,
And the gray-green sedge at the prairie's edge
Is bathed in a blood-red glow!

The measured breath of my mustang's feet
Still lures me down the years—
And I want to ride back by the strong man's track
That I see tonight through tears.