O, ho, yo,
O, ho, yo,
To thee, my life,
To thee, my wife,
To thee, my mother—

Who are these the many-feeding?
Heaps of horns,
Hills of fur—
To thee, I come to partake of food,
My mother,
O, ho—

So say’th the spring,
So say’th the wing,
So say’th my mother—

Thus, it was I heard the feet beat—
My ear down,
On the ground—
Yea, I put my lips to thee and drank song,
My mother,
O, ho—

So cries the tree,
So cries the sea,
So cries my mother—

There, the word was overheard,
By the cactus
Standing lone—
Yea, by the cypress thou wilt teach me,
My mother,
O, ho—

So walks the light,
So walks the night,
So walks my mother—

Even unto the long black shadows,
Goeth the frail thing,
Evening star—
Whither thou goeth and thy smile go I,
My mother.
O, ho—

So broods the dark,
So broods the bark,
So broods my mother—

Beneath the bark-blanket were the little men—
The six-legged,
Painted black and red—

Unto thee will I hide me to sleep,
My mother,
O, ho—

To thee, O breath,
To thee, O death,
To thee, my mother—

I saw it, yea in a dream, I saw it—
My soul
Arise from sleep—
In the morning, thou wilt call me,
My mother.

O, ho, yo,
O, ho, yo,
To thee, O—
Yo.