When the old spring fret comes o’er you
And the Red Gods call for you!
They will see the beaver falling and hear the white swan calling,
They’ll behold the fishhawk fumble as bald eagle takes a tumble to rob him of his haul.
They will lie alone to hear the wild geese cry.
They may watch the blacktail mating as they work the chosen waters where the mackinaw are waiting
And the cutthroats jumping crazy for the fly!
They must go, go, go, away from here!
On the summit of the world they’re overdue.
Begone! The way is clear before you