Charles Badger Clark
Charles Badger Clark Poems
|42.||The Old Camp Coffee-Pot||7/9/2016|
|43.||The Night Herder||7/9/2016|
|44.||The Long Way||7/9/2016|
|45.||The Locoed Horse||7/9/2016|
|46.||The Forest Rangers||7/9/2016|
|47.||The Fighting Swing||7/9/2016|
|48.||The Buffalo Trail||7/9/2016|
|50.||The Bad Lands||7/9/2016|
|51.||On The Oregon Trail||7/9/2016|
|52.||On The Drive||7/9/2016|
|54.||My Father And I||7/9/2016|
|57.||I Must Come Back||7/9/2016|
The daybreak comes so pure and still.
He said that I was pure as dawn,
That day we climbed to Signal Hill.
Back there before the war came on.
God keep me pure as he is brave,
And fit to take his name.
I let him go and fight to save
Some other girl from shame.
Across the gulch it glimmers white,
The little house we plotted for.
We would be sitting here tonight
If he had never gone to war—
The firelight and the cricket's cheep,
My arm around his neck—
I let him go and fight to keep
Some other home from wreck.
And every day I ride to ...
Trailing the last gleam after,
In the valleys emptied of light,
Ripples a whimsical laughter
Under the wings of the night.
Mocking the faded west airily,
Meeting the little bats merrily,
Over the mesas it shrills
To the red moon on the hills.