 | Going-to-the-stars |  |
III
“Tell me of the Olympian-white
Basket-flowers of flame
The marching-plumes of flame,
Climbing great Sun Mountain,
Invading now, every fountain,
While our hearts grow greater
And our climbing songs are sung;
While the days grow later,
While the sun still lingers,
Or great storm bells are rung,
And the lightning splits the hills,
And now, the falling fountain fills.
Tell me of these high-plumed tribes
Of Indian basket-flowers
That march up the Sun Mountain glacier,
Through the holy hours.
What is their spiritual name?”
Basket-flowers of flame
The marching-plumes of flame,
Climbing great Sun Mountain,
Invading now, every fountain,
While our hearts grow greater
And our climbing songs are sung;
While the days grow later,
While the sun still lingers,
Or great storm bells are rung,
14
And now, the falling fountain fills.
Tell me of these high-plumed tribes
Of Indian basket-flowers
That march up the Sun Mountain glacier,
Through the holy hours.
What is their spiritual name?”
The Answer
“This is a separate race,Speaking an alien tongue—
These are the young!”
| Going-to-the-stars | |