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But through long-forgotten seasons, moons too many to be numbered,
He yet waited by the canyon—she called across the years,
And the soul within the river, though centuries had slumbered,
Woke to sob a song of womanly tears.
For her little, lonely spirit sought the Capilano canyon,
When she died among the Haidas in the land of Totem Poles,
And you yet may hear her singing to her lover-like companion,
If you listen to the river as it rolls.
But 'tis only when the pearl and purple smoke is idly swinging
From the fires on Lulu Island to the hazy mountain crest,
That the undertone of sobbing echoes through the river's singing,
In the Capilano canyon of the West.
