The Path on the Rainbow, edited by George W. Cronyn, , at sacred-texts.com
Last night I saw winged stars in flight
Circling o’er thy dwelling.
They swung at rest on the points of the shore pine—
Torches red-spanning the bay.
My wolves, at my call,
In long gray troops fled up from the forest.
They sphered in guard about me—sleeping on my shield
poised on the four world-crags—
As darkened silver cloud-mists wind about the moon.
I have shepherded them into the canyon between us—
(But my eyes I will not cover!)
Wilt thou come, daring, among my fanged flocks,
What is this warmth stealing to my height
Like footsteps of a strange desire?
Wave on wave of pink and gold breaks over the white;
The petals open, chirring,
As if they were feathers on the Song-bird's swelling throat.
My wolves, with heads hanging and fangs covered, slowly moving, moving,
Huddle in the valley like sky-shadows before rain.
Whose steps flow and ripple over the dark moss,
Parting the green walls of cedars,
My eyes I will not cover!
I have woven thongs of the mountain mists
And bound me to the morning star.
Between the cliffs of Night and Day, thou emergest!—
Thy sod-brown bosom, the mystical craving eyes above;
The yearning fragrance of thy closed hands,
The wild winds between thy feet,
And the rivers under thy girdle!
I have cast down the great shield of the dawn!
Come, redden its rim with me,