Page:Poetry, a magazine of verse, Volume 5 (October 1914-March 1915).djvu/19

Song of the Search :Oh, the wolf has his mate on the mountain— Where art thou, Spring-daughter? I tremble with love as the reeds by the river, I burn as the dusk in the red-tented west, I call thee aloud as the deer calls the doe. I await thee as hills wait the morning, I desire thee as eagles the storm: I yearn to thy breast as night to the sea. I claim thee as the silence claims the stars. O Earth, Earth, great Earth Mate of God and mother of me, Say, where is she, the Bearer of Morning, My Bringer of Song? Love in me waits to be born, Where is She, the Woman?

My tribesmen, jealous, call me Many-Faces But the name over my house-door Is Conqueror of Women. The Moon-Woman’s finger wrote it there. I am as that red deer of stars In the night's skyey forest, Ever pursued by the tossing foam of maidens' love— Froth from the mouths of hunting wolves! (Ak! and some that be not maidens—