Джон Банистер Табб (John Bannister Tabb)

Indian Summer

NO more the battle or the chase
   The phantom tribes pursue,
But each in its accustomed place
   The Autumn hails anew:
And still from solemn councils set
   On every hill and plain,
The smoke of many a calumet*
   Ascends to heaven again.

* [Amer. indian peace pipe]

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