Go seek the red man's last retreat!
A lonesome land, the haunted lands!
Red mouths of beasts, red men's red hands:
Red prophet-priest, in mute defeat!
His boundaries in blood are writ!
His land is ghostland! That is his,
Whatever man may claim of this;
Beware how you shall enter it!
He stands God's guardian of ghostlands;
Ay, this same wrapped half-prophet stands
All nude and voiceless, nearer to
The awful God than I or you.