TO MASSASOIT.
Reading edition
CHIEF SACHEM OF THE WAMPANOAGS.
The vaulted skies your rosary, The wilderness your shrine, The lifting sea your ritual, Would I might make them mine, O brother Pagan! Here’s my hand, Would, ’mid the Sisters Seven, Of yellow hair, in yonder air, I were as sure of Heaven As you—who know the trail of Death, The sorrow of the bird, The whither, whence, a white-moth flies, The wood-brook’s laughing word.