She stands full-throated and with careless pose, <br />This woman of a weird and waning race, <br />The tragic savage lurking in her face, <br />Where all her pagan passion burns and glows; <br />Her blood is mingled with her ancient foes, <br />And thrills with war and wildness in her veins; <br />Her rebel lips are dabbled with the stains <br />Of feuds and forays and her father's woes. <br /> <br />And closer in the shawl about her breast, <br />The latest promise of her nation's doom, <br />Paler than she her baby clings and lies, <br />The primal warrior gleaming from his eyes; <br />He sulks, and burdened with his infant gloom, <br />He draws his heavy brows and will not rest.<br /><br />Duncan Campbell Scott<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-onondaga-madonna/
