1 Your trail runs to the westward, And mine to my own place; There is water between our lodges, And I have not seen your face. 2 But since I have read your verses ’Tis easy to guess the rest,— Because in the hearts of the children There is neither East nor West. 3 Born to a thousand fortunes Of good or evil hap, Once they were kings together, Throned in a mother’s lap. 4 Surely they know that secret— Yellow and black and white— When they meet as kings together In innocent dreams at night. 5 By a moon they all can play with— Grubby and grimed and unshod, Very happy together, And very near to God. 6 Your trail runs to the westward, And mine to my own place: There is water between our lodges, And you cannot see my face.— 7 And that is well—for crying Should neither be written nor seen, But if I call you Smoke-in-the-Eyes, I know you will know what I mean.
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