| |
| I AM Ah-woa-te, the Hunter. | |
| |
| I met a maiden in the shadow of the rocks; | |
| Her eyes were strange and clear, | |
| Her fair lips were shaped like the bow of dawning. | |
| I asked her name, | 5 |
| Striking my spear in the deep earth for resting. | |
| |
| “I am Kantlak, a maiden, named for the Morning. | |
| On the mountain-top I heard two eagles talking— | |
| The word was Love. | |
| They cried it, beating their wings on each other | 10 |
| Until they bled; and she fell, | |
| Yet, falling, still weakly cried it | |
| To him soaring: and died. | |
| I came to a mossy low valley of flowers. | |
| There I saw Men-iak, the white grouse, | 15 |
| (White with chaste dreams, like the Spring Moon, fairer than flowers). | |
| Through the forest a dark bird swooped, with fierce eyes, | |
| And Men-iak flew down to it. | |
| Her white breast is red-dyed, she lies on the moss; | |
| Yet faintly cries the same strange word. | 20 |
| Hunter, will you come to my little fire and tell me | |
| What Love is?” | |
| |
| I could not see the maiden’s face clearly, for the dusk, | |
| Where she sat by her small fire—only her eyes. | |
| In the little flicker I saw her feet; they were bare— | 25 |
| Tireless, slim brown feet. | |
| I saw how fair her lips were— | |
| I drew nearer to cast my log on the fire. I said: | |
| “Maiden, I am the Hunter. | |
| When dusk ends the chase I leave the Mighty Killing. | 30 |
| Far or near, where gleams some little fire, | |
| I grope through the forest with my heavy log; | |
| Till I find one by the fire, sitting alone without fuel. | |
| I cast my log gladly into the fire—thus. | |
| It grips, the flames mount, the warmth embraces. | 35 |
| |
| “Almost I can see your face, Woman; | |
| The bow of your fair lips is hot with speeded arrows, | |
| Your strange clear eyes have darkened. | |
| Fear not—our fire will outlast the dark.” | |
| |
| “Hunter, what of the cold on the bleak hillside | 40 |
| When the log burns gray, and the fire is ashes? | |
| I replied, “I have never seen this: | |
| When the fire burns low I am asleep.” | |
| She said: “What of me, if I sleep not, and see the ashes?” | |
| I yawned: I said, “I know not; | 45 |
| I wake in the sun and go forth.” | |
| |
| The bow of her lips was like the moon’s cold circle. | |
| She said, “Hunter, you have told me of Love!” | |
| “It maybe so,” I answered. I wished to sleep. | |
| She said, “Already it is ashes.” | 50 |
| I looked and saw that her face was gray, | |
| As if the wind had blown the ashes over it. | |
| I was angry; I said, “Better you had slept.” | |
| She said, “Yes—but I lie bleeding on the moss, | |
| Crying this word.” | 55 |
| I answered, “This is so; but wherefore?” and asked, idly, | |
| “Wherefore remember him who brought to your lone little fire | |
| The log that now is ashes?” | |
| She shivered in the cold dawn; | |
| I saw that her eyes were darker than shadows. | 60 |
| Her fair mouth was like my perfect bow, | |
| But I could fit no more arrows to it. | |
| |
| She said, “Hunter, see how gray are these rocks | |
| Where we have sheltered our brief night.” | |
| I looked—they were ashen. | 65 |
| She said: “See how they come together here—and he— | |
| As the knees, the breast, the great brow, the forgotten eyes, | |
| Of a woman, | |
| Sitting, waiting, stark and still, | |
| And always gray; | 70 |
| Though hunters camp each night between her knees, | |
| And little fires are kindled and burned out in her hollows.” | |
| It was so; the mountain was a stone woman sitting. | |
| Kantlak said: “She remembers him who turned her fire to ashes; | |
| She waits to know the meaning of her waiting— | 75 |
| Why the love that wounded her can never be cast out.” | |
| I asked idly, “Who will tell her?”— | |
| And laughed, for the sun was up. I reached for my arrows; | |
| I drew my strong spear from the deep earth by her feet. | |
| Kantlak looked up to the other gray face, and said, | 80 |
| “No answer is given.” | |
| Down to the cold white endless sea-shore | |
| Slowly she went, with bent head. | |
| A young deer cast its leaping shadow on the pool. | |
| I ran upon the bright path, swaying my spear. | 85 |
| |
