The Flower-Fed Buffaloes

The flower-fed buffaloes of the

In the days of long ago,

Ranged where the locomotives

And the prairie flowers lie low:

The tossing, blooming, perfumed

Is swept away by wheat,

Wheels and wheels and wheels spin

In the spring that still is sweet.

But the flower-fed buffaloes of the

Left us long ago,

They gore no more, they bellow no more:—They trundle around the hills no more:—With the Blackfeet lying low,

With the Pawnee lying low.