She walks in silence like the cloud
that ducks the morning sea;
yet never a cloud could be fierce and proud
like Joannah Cassady.

The dawn was coming like a brush
from savage ostrich wings;
the earth was frozen, but the grass was lush
and loaded with lawless things.

Gay emerald tablets she heeds no more,
as adept and astute as can be;
and hothouse lore will hush the shore
but never disturb Miss Cassady.

An on she walks o'er stony lawns,
through the rushes, harps and drums;
sing war-painted preachers and simmering pawns,
"She'll be driving six white horses when she comes."

The ships are coming in to-night,
and busy the harbour will be;
far countries shine bright like window-pane light
to call for Joannah Cassady.