When the old spring fret comes o’er you,
And the Red Gods call for you!
Unto each the voice and vision, unto each his hunch and sign,
Lonely geyser in a basin, misty sweat bath ’neath a pine.
Unto each a lad who knows his naked soul!
Unto each a rainbow arching through a window in the sky,
While the blazoned, bird-winged butterflies flap by.
It is there that they are going to a region that they know,
Where the sign betrays the badger and the shaggy buffalo.
Where the trail runs out in breccia midst rock forests row on row.