AH me! I know how like a golden flower br The Grand Ronde valley lies this August night, br Locked in by dimpled hills where purple light br Lies wavering. There at the sunset hour br Sink downward, like a rainbow-tinted shower, br A thousand colored rays, soft, changeful, bright. br Later the large moon rises, round and white, br And three Blue Mountain pines against it tower, br Lonely and dark. A coyote’s mournful cry br Sinks from the canon,—whence the river leaps br A blade of silver underneath the moon. br Like restful seas the yellow wheat-fields lie, br Dreamless and still. And while the valley sleeps, br O hear!—the lullabies that low winds croon.