I find many forms of this reptile, Scattered along the prairies, Coiled on the banks of the rivers, In Iowa, and far Minnesota, And here and there, in Wisconsin. Now he is circular, Gnawing his tail, like the Greek symbol, Suggesting infinite meanings Unto the mind of a modern Crammed with the olden mythologies. Now, uncoiled in the sunlight, He stretches himself out at full length In all his undulate longitude. His body is a constellation of mounds, Artfully imitative, From the fatal tail to the more fatal head. Overgrown they are with grass, Short, green grass, thick and velvety, Like well cared-for lawns, With strange, wild flowers glittering, Made up of alien mould Brought hither from distant regions. Curiously I have considered them, Many a time in the summer, Lying beside them under the flaming sky, Smoking an old tobacco pipe, Made by one of these moundsmen. Who in his time had smoked it, Perchance over the council fire, Or in the dark woods where he had gone a-hunting; In war time--in peaceful evenings, With his squaw by his side, And his brood of dusky papposins Playing about in the twilight Under the awful star-shadows. It seemed that I was very close to him, at such times; And that his thick-ribbed lips, --Gone to dust for unknown centuries-- Had met mine inscrutably, By a magic hid in the pipestem, Making me his familiar and hail fellow. Almost I felt his breath, And the muffled sound of his heart-beats; Almost I grasped his hand, And shook the antediluvian, With a shake of grimmest fellowship Trying to cozen him of his grim secret. But sudden the gusty wind came, Laughing away the illusion, And I was alone in the desert.