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"False," they said, "thy Pale-face lover, from the land of waking morn; Rise and wed thy Redskin wooer, nobler warrior ne'er was born; Cease thy watching, cease thy dreaming,   Show the white thine Indian scorn."

Thus they taunted her, declaring, "He remembers naught of thee: Likely some white maid he wooeth, far beyond the inland sea." But she answered ever kindly, "He will come again to me,"

Till the dusk of Indian summer crept athwart the western skies; But a deeper dusk was burning in her dark and dreaming eyes, As she scanned the rolling prairie, Where the foothills fall, and rise.

Till the autumn came and vanished, till the season of the rains, Till the western world lay fettered in midwinter's crystal chains, Still she listened for his coming, Still she watched the distant plains.