Page:Poetry, a magazine of verse, Volume 5 (October 1914-March 1915).djvu/26

POETRY: A Magazine of Verse When the beach crawled longly down To the low sea, at morn, With my sharp hunting little knife I killed the fat Father of the Clams! "Leqa-a-a-to'q!"(Ho? ai-ai?Angrily she calls me!) Farewell, slaves: I hear the loud voice of the Great Chief's Great Woman calling,— The high voice of the Great Chief's great Little Son's great Mother. "Leqa-a-ato'q——co-omes!" See Me! Grinding, flashing, my long, white, many, fierce, little teeth! I run, I run, I run—Ki-Ki-Ki-y!— To eat my big little supper.

For the plaiting of thy whip They were wet with sweet drops; They still thought of the night.


 * All alone I shredded cedar-boughs,

Green boughs in the pale light, Where the morning meets the sea, And the great mountain stops.