Classic Poem

NO ANSWER IS GIVEN

I am Ah-woa-te, the Hunter.

I met a maiden in the shadow of the rocks;
Her eyes were strange and clear,
Her fair lips were shaped like the bow of dawning.
I asked her name,
Striking my spear in the deep earth for resting.

" I am Kantlak, a maiden, named for the Morning.
On the mountain-top I heard two eagles talking —
The word was Love.
They cried it, beating their wings on each other
Until they bled; and she fell,
Yet, falling, still weakly cried it
To him soaring: and died.
I came to a mossy low valley of flowers.
There I saw Men-iak, the white grouse,
(White with chaste dreams, like the Spring Moon, fairer than flowers).
Through the forest a dark bird swooped, with fierce eyes,
And Men-iak flew down to it.
Her white breast is red-dyed, she lies on the moss;
Yet faintly cries the same strange word.
Hunter, will you come to my little fire and tell me
What Love is? "

I could not see the maiden's face clearly, for the dusk,
Where she sat by her small fire — only her eyes.
In the little flicker I saw her feet; they were bare —
Tireless, slim brown feet.
I saw how fair her lips were —
I drew nearer to cast my log on the fire. I said:
" Maiden, I am the Hunter.
When dusk ends the chase I leave the mighty killing.
Far or near, where gleams some little fire,
I grope through the forest with my heavy log;
Till I find one by the fire, sitting alone without fuel.
I cast my log gladly into the fire — thus.
It grips, the flames mount, the warmth embraces.

" Almost I can see your face, Woman;
The bow of your fair lips is hot with speeded arrows,
Your strange clear eyes have darkened.
Fear not — our fire will outlast the dark. "

" Hunter, what of the cold on the bleak hillside
When the log burns gray, and the fire is ashes? "
I replied, " I have never seen this:
When the fire burns low I am asleep. "
She said: " What of me, if I sleep not, and see the ashes? "
I yawned; I said: " I know not;
I wake in the sun and go forth. "

The bow of her lips was like the moon's cold circle.
She said, " Hunter, you have told me of Love! "
" It may be so, " I answered. I wished to sleep.
She said, " Already it is ashes. "
I looked and saw that her face was gray,
As if the wind had blown the ashes over it.
I was angry; I said, " Better you had slept. "
She said, " Yes — but I lie bleeding on the moss,
Crying this word. "
I answered, " This is so; but wherefore? " and asked idly,
" Wherefore remember him who brought to your lone little fire
The log that now is ashes? "
She shivered in the cold dawn;
I saw that her eyes were darker than shadows.
Her fair mouth was like my perfect bow,
But I could fit no more arrows to it.
She said, " Hunter, see how gray are these rocks
Where we have sheltered our brief night. "
I looked — they were ashen.
She said: " See how they come together here — and here —
As the knees, the breast, the great brow, the forgotten eyes,
Of a woman,
Sitting, waiting, stark and still,
And always gray;
Though hunters camp each night between her knees,
And little fires are kindled and burned out in her hollows. "
It was so; the mountain was a stone woman sitting.
Kantlak said: " She remembers him who turned her fire to ashes;
She waits to know the meaning of her waiting —
Why the love that wounded her can never be cast out. "
I asked idly, " Who will tell her? " —
And laughed, for the sun was up. I reached for my arrows;
I drew my strong spear from the deep earth by her feet.
Kantlak looked up to the other gray face, and said,
" No answer is given. "
Down to the cold white endless sea-shore
Slowly she went, with bent head.
A young deer cast its leaping shadow on the pool.
I ran upon the bright path, swaying my spear.