Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me?
I know now what this meant, that the bison were the gift of a good spirit and were our strength, but we should lose them, and from the same good spirit we must find another strength.
And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
The fibers of all things have their tension and are strained like the strings of an instrument.
I have seen the movement of the sinews of the sky, And the blood coursing in the veins of the moon.
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