The Song of Hiawatha

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

As if in a swoon he sat there,

Speechless, motionless, unconscious

Of the daylight or the darkness.

Then they buried Minnehaha;

In the snow a grave they made her

In the forest deep and darksome

Underneath the moaning hemlocks;

Clothed her in her richest garments

Wrapped her in her robes of ermine,

Covered her with snow, like ermine;