He who in his shadow saw his soul, fleeting

In a river, bestride the dawdling cloud,

As men were known to think, once

Upon a strident, earnest time—

And I who see my soul, and ours,

In the whole of what’s around,

Can I be headed else

Than where some noble Indian—

According to his code, comported

All his life in line

For fear some heathen god

Would strike him down—landed

Finally one day,

Years and years past brushing close

With death whose reach he always just outstripped,

One morning smelling fate about him,

Unquicked for one half-instant, heaven-blest,

And was by creeping viper bit

Who slid along beside his grassy mattress,

And contented then, breathless

Let his shadow vanish under rock?

- D.Marsteller