I Don't Need Therapy, I am an Indian

I don't need therapy, I am an Indian

Struck with sure colors by a sudden aid

To leave the people from their large repose.

Thus, with the silent greeting, they should live

Each hour. No eloquence, no inward pain,—

No human soul, no earthly mortal shame,—

Man's boundless love,— the immortal love.

He notes the same sweet touch above the throng,

And sweeter now their precious melodies.

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