Fancy Dress

 Some Brave, awake in you to-night, 
Knocked at your heart: an eagle’s flight 
Stirred in the feather on your head.
 
Your wide-set Indian eyes, alight 
Above high cheek-bones smeared with red,
Unveiled cragg’d centuries, and led 
You, the snared wraith of bygone things— 
Wild ancestries of trackless Kings— 
Out of the past .
.
.
 So men have felt 
Strange anger move them as they knelt 
Praying to gods serenely starred 
In heavens where tomahawks are barred.

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