Emily Pauline Johnson

The Cattle Country

    Up the dusk-enfolded prairie,
        Foot-falls, soft and sly,
    Velvet cushioned, wild and wary,
        Then - the coyote's cry.

    Rush of hoofs, and roar and rattle,
        Beasts of blood and breed,
    Twenty thousand frightened cattle,
        Then - the wild stampede.

    Pliant lasso circling wider
        In the frenzied flight -
    Loping horse and cursing rider,
        Plunging through the night.

    Rim of dawn the darkness losing
        Trail of blackened soil;
    Perfume of the sage brush oozing
        On the air like oil.

    Foothills to the Rockies lifting
        Brown, and blue, and green,
    Warm Alberta sunlight drifting
        Over leagues between.

    That's the country of the ranges,
        Plain and prairie land,
    And the God who never changes
        Holds it in His hand.