To whom the green sward is like bed of down,
With no pavilion save the starlit sky,
Upon whose locks the evening dews have shown;
Who often slept among the wilds alone,
The while the coyotes sing his lullaby.
Gladly would I backward turn Time's mystic wheel,
Barrington, F. H.
(Topeka: Geo. W. Crane & Company. 1892)
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