The Great Western Plains

The little voices of the prairie dogs
Are tireless . . .
They will give three hurrahs
Alike to stage, equestrian, and pullman,
And all unstingingly as to the moon.

And Fifi's bows and poodle ease
Whirl by them centred on the lap
Of Lottie Honeydew, movie queen,
Toward lawyers and Nevada.

And how much more they cannot see!
Alas, there is so little time,
The world moves by so fast these days!
Burrowing in silk is not their way --
And yet they know the tomahawk.

Indeed, old memories come back to life;
Pathetic yelps have sometimes greeted
Noses pressed against the glass.

by Harold Hart Crane

Other poems of CRANE (37)

Comments (2)

The stage is set and Pathetic yelps have sometimes greeted Noses pressed against the glass. When that coyote deigns to peer through the window of that home now filling out and encroaching upon his native land. Love it Neil
Tragic yet nostalgic picture of the passing of the great American West, that so few even care about.