Fancy Dress
Some Brave, awake in you to—night,
Knocked at your heart: an eagle’s flight
Stirred in the feather on your head.
Your wide—set Indian eyes, alight
Above high cheek—bones smeared with red,
Unveiled cragg’d centuries, and led
You, the snared wraith of bygone things—
Wild ancestries of trackless Kings—
Out of the past ... So men have felt
Strange anger move them as they knelt
Praying to gods serenely starred
In heavens where tomahawks are barred.
