IN my Indian canoe
There was room enough for two.
So it happened scarce a spot
On the river we knew not.
Every inlet where we came
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Answered to its Indian name.
Oft I paddled up the stream,
Where in summer willows dream.
Hid in shadows we would sing
For the echoing shores to fling
Broken words to us again,
But the music in a strain
As if Dryads in the wood
All its meaning understood.
Or in moonlight would we drift
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Amusements.
