“A flitting rainbow in your life,

your body but a passing cloud,

remember this when you are proud

or when you look upon a knife.”

(He said) “We work for the same Boss

though you are earth and I a star,

and herdsmen both, though my guitar

is strung to strum the world across!

as if you’d known me all your life

go with good luck as with a wife;

though there’s a line you may not cross

you will not find it in this land

and you can sleep on this kaross”

(He stroked the meadow with his hand).

“The World put down its lovely mane,

your fathers strokes it with their ships;

they won you, with their guns and whips,

the huge hosannah of the plain.

Through the lush lilies as you crash

and rein horizons in your hold,

while, baying fire, the aloes slash

your stirrups with their fangs of gold—

Sing, Cowboy! string your strong guitar!

For each Vaquero is a star

and Abel’s sons the line will cross,

under the stretched, terrific wings,

the outspread arms (our soaring King’s)—

the man they made an Albatross!”