Ántonia

From My Ántonia
by Willa Cather

“They can’t any of them speak English,”
(Said the train conductor to me, the boy Jim)
“Except one little girl…not much older than you, Jim,
and she’s bright as a new dollar.
“She’s got pretty brown eyes, too!”

(And she did, my Ántonia!
When I first saw her.) Ántonia came up to me
and held her hand out coaxingly…
and soon we were running–together–
through the fields, laughing

Ántonia! My Ántonia!
How many an afternoon (we) trailed along the prairie
(Laughing, she would point to a tree…)
“Name? What name?” “Name?”
(“Tree.” I answered)

(One evening) we climbed to the roof to watch the clouds…of a…storm
…one black cloud no bigger than a little boat
drifted out alone…
Grandmother (called to us to come down)
“In a minute we come!” (Ántonia called back)
“In a minute!”