Mary Austin

From “High Places”

Said the Eagle:

WHEN my time came

I was astonished

To find that there was death;

I felt cold sinking within me.

Alas, my home—

Shall I leave it?

All-beholding mountains,

From your snowy stations

Shall I see my house no more?

North I went,

Leaning on the wind:

Through the forest resounded

The cry of the wounded doe.

East I went,

Seeking

Where the white-hot dawn

Treads on the trail of morning blueness:

The wind brought me

The smell of death in my nostrils.

South I went,

Looking

For the place where there is no death:

I heard singing,

The sound of wailing for the dead.

West I went,

On the world-encompassing water:

Death’s trail was before me.

People, O people,

It must be that we shall leave this pleasant earth.

Therefore let us make songs together,

Let us make a twine of songs.

With them we shall bind the Spirit

Fast to the middle heaven—

There at least it shall roam no more.

The white way of souls,

There shall be our home.