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TO A BUFFALO SKULL
On the sable wall doth thy great skull gleam,
A regal ornament; Speak thou, thro' the gloom of this dusky room,
Once lord of a continent.
Yea, once I was lord of a countless host,
But gone is my kingly sway, And never again will I head the herd,
In the spring when the young calves play. All bleached with the merciless sun and rain
Of many and many a day, I'm all that is left to tell the sad tale
How the black lines passed this way.