The flower-fed buffaloes

The flower-fed buffaloes of the spring

In the days of long ago,

Ranged where the locomotives sing

And the prarie flowers lie low:

The tossing, blooming, perfumed grass

Is swept away by wheat,

Wheels and wheels and wheels spin by

In the spring that still is sweet.

But the flower-fed buffaloes of the spring

Left us long ago,

They gore no more, they bellow no more: --

With the Blackfeet lying low,

With the Pawnee lying low.