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*          [Amer. indian peace pipe]

   Ascends to heaven again.

John Banister Tabb

Index to poems in the collection by John Bannister Tabb