Page:The Collected Poems of Hart Crane.djvu/30

It had no charter but a promised crown
               Of claims to stake.

But we, —too late, too early, howsoever—
  Won nothing out of fifty-nine—those years—
But gilded promise, yielded to us never,
               And barren tears…

The long trail back! I huddled in the shade
  Of wagon-tenting looked out once and saw
Bent westward, passing on a stumbling jade
               A homeless squaw—

Perhaps a halfbreed. On her slender back
  She cradled a babe’s body, riding without rein.
Her eyes, strange for an Indian’s, were not black
               But sharp with pain

And like twin stars. They seemed to shun the gaze
 Of all our silent men—the long team line—
Until she saw me—when their violet haze
               Lit with love shine…

I held you up—I suddenly the bolder,
  Knew that mere words could not have brought us nearer
She nodded—and that smile across her shoulder
               Will still endear her

As long as Jim, your father’s memory, is warm.
  Yes, Larry, now you’re going to sea, remember