Ernest McGaffey. “In the Sunset Lands,” Poems, 1895.
Blue-bordered by the summer sky;
Where past our swaying, creaking stage,
The buffaloes go thundering by,
And antelope in scattered bands
Feed in the breezy prairie-lands.
Far down the west a speck appears,
That falls and rises, on and on,
An instant to the vision clear,
A moment more, and it is gone—
And then it dashes into sight,
Swift as an eagle’s downward flight.
A ring of hoofs, a flying steed,
A shout—a face—a waving hand—
A flake of foam upon the grass
That melts—and then alone we stand.
As now a speck against the gray,
The pony-rider fades away.