Emily Pauline Johnson (1861–1913)

UP the dusk-enfolded prairie,

Footfalls soft and sly,

Velvet cushioned, wild and wary;

Then—the coyote’s cry.

Rush of hoofs and roar and rattle;

Beasts of blood and breed—

Twenty thousand frightened cattle;

Then—the wild stampede.

Pliant lasso, circling wider,

With the frenzied flight;

Loping horse and cursing rider

Plunging through the night.

Rim of dawn the darkness losing,

Trail of blackened loam,

Perfume of the sage brush oozing

On the air like foam.

Foothills to the Rockies lifting,

Brown, and blue, and green;

Warm Alberta sunlight drifting

Over leagues between.

That ’s the country of the ranges,

Plain, and prairie-land;

And the God who never changes

Holds it in His hand.