While the river of stars is rolling,

Rolling away to the darkness,

Abides with the power in the midnight, where love may find its own.

She watched from the Huron tents, till the first star shook in the air.

The sweet pine scented her fawn-skins, and breathed from her braided hair.

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Her crown was of milk-white blood-root, because of the tryst she would keep,

Beyond the river of beauty

That drifted away in the darkness

Drawing the sunset thro’ lilies, with eyes like stars, to the deep.

He watched, like a tall young wood-god, from the red pine that she named;

But not for the peril behind him, where the eyes of the Mohawks flamed.

Eagle-plumed he stood. But his heart was hunting afar,

Where the river of longing whispered ...

And one swift shaft from the darkness

Felled him, her name in his death-cry, his eyes on the sunset star.

.......

She stole from the river and listened. The moon on her wet skin shone.

As a silver birch in a pine-wood, her beauty flashed and was gone.

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