Hear the beating of the tom-tom On yon tip of Indian Hill; Agonizingly this drumming Speaks an Indian gravely ill. Often that persistent pounding Carries miles from Indian Knoll, Like the pangs of guilty conscience Haunt the weary human soul. When the spirit of the red man Leaves for "happy hunting grounds", Horse and saddle rest beside him: Death does not restrict their bounds. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMESDAY BOOK: DOMESDAY BOOK by EDGAR LEE MASTERS ABU SALAMMAMM - A SONG OF EMPIRE by EZRA POUND SONG OF THE RABBITS OUTSIDE THE TAVERN by ELIZABETH JANE COATSWORTH OVERNIGHT, A ROSE by CAROLINE GILTINAN THE TEACHER by LESLIE PINCKNEY HILL EURYDICE TO ORPHEUS by ROBERT BROWNING |