Page:The Collected Poems of Hart Crane.djvu/29

INDIANA

The morning glory, climbing the morning long
  Over the lintel on its wiry vine,
Closes before the dusk, furls in its song
               As I close mine…

And bison thunder rends my dreams no more
  As once my womb was torn, my boy, when you
Yielded your first cry at the prairie’s door…
               Your father knew

Then, though we’d buried him behind us, far
  Back on the gold trail—then his lost bones stirred…
But you who drop the scythe to grasp the oar
               Knew not, nor heard

How we, too, Prodigal, once rode off, too—
 Waved Seminary Hill a gay good-bye…
We found God lavish there in Colorado
               But passing sly.

The pebbles sang, the firecat slunk away
 And glistening through the sluggard freshets came
In golden syllables loosed from the clay
               His gleaming name.

A dream called Eldorado was his town,
 It rose up shambling in the nuggets’wake,