Heard in the gloom of the forest dark,
Heard while the embers snapped and snarled,
To the growl and glare of the glimmering spark.
Heard while the lucivee cried from the pines,
And the ribboned splash of a startled loon,
Crystalled the rim of the lake, as it lay
Soft in the gleam of the hunter’s moon.
This is the song of the moose.
Near the amber drip of the torrent’s rip,
Where the lean wolf howls at the blinding spray,