Her tipi soon she reached, distant no more
Than arrow from a warrior’s bowstring sent,
Paused but to wipe her knife upon the grass,
And found her usual couch upon the floor.
But not to sleep; she closed her eyes in vain,
Shutting away the moonlight from her view;
Darkness and moonlight wore the same dread hue,
Flooding the universe with crimson stain.
She clasped her bosom with her hands to still
The throbbing of her heart that seemed to fill