Poem by Vachel Lindsay

An Indian Summer Day on the Prarie

(IN THE BEGINNING)

THE sun is a huntress young, 
The sun is a red, red joy, 
The sun is an indian girl, 
Of the tribe of the Illinois.

(MID-MORNING)

The sun is a smouldering fire, 
That creeps through the high gray plain, 
And leaves not a bush of cloud 
To blossom with flowers of rain.

(NOON)

The sun is a wounded deer, 
That treads pale grass in the skies, 
Shaking his golden horns, 
Flashing his baleful eyes.

(SUNSET)

The sun is an eagle old, 
There in the windless west. 
Atop of the spirit-cliffs 
He builds him a crimson nest.

1. To Gloriana
2. The Merciful Hand
3. Yet Gentle Will the Griffin Be
4. To Buddha
5. The Black Hawk War of the Artists

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