CHIEF BLOODY-FEATHERA Council-chief
Ringed by platoons of stoic bronze, the chief
Stood up in council-grove above the rabble—
Headmen and chiefs, hunters, jugglers, braves,
The children of his loins, his children's children—
Above this host the council-speaker loomed:
An ancient maple-tree, a strong sweet tree
That has made wild music from the wind and snow
For ninety winters; a maple-tree whose arms,
Stretching against the rain, the bouncing hail,
Has sheltered multitudes of travellers
And straggling hosts of elders, wayworn, palsied,
And weary with the day,—for ninety summers.
Stood up in council-grove above the rabble—
Headmen and chiefs, hunters, jugglers, braves,
The children of his loins, his children's children—
Above this host the council-speaker loomed:
An ancient maple-tree, a strong sweet tree
That has made wild music from the wind and snow
For ninety winters; a maple-tree whose arms,
Stretching against the rain, the bouncing hail,
Has sheltered multitudes of travellers
And straggling hosts of elders, wayworn, palsied,
And weary with the day,—for ninety summers.
A maple that has yielded up its life
Season on sugar-season—oh, what can be
More tragic in its beauty than a maple:
Swollen and scarred of trunk, and varicose
Season on sugar-season—oh, what can be
More tragic in its beauty than a maple:
Swollen and scarred of trunk, and varicose
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