The Great Chief in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy
our land How can you buy or sell the sky The warmth of the land
The idea is strange to us Yet we do not own the freshness of the air
or the sparkle of the water How can you buy them from us Every
part of this earth is sacred to my people ...
...There is no quiet place in the white man's cities No place
to hear the leaves of spring or the rustle of insect wings But
perhaps because I am a savage and do not understand The
clatter only seems to insult the ears And what is there to life
if a man canno hear the lovely cry of the whippoorwill
or the arugements of the frong around the pond ar night
The Whites too shall pass Perhaps sooner than other
tribes Continue to contaminate your bed and you will
one night suffocate in your own waster When the
buffalo are slaughtered, the whild horses will all tamed, the
secret corners of the forest heavy with the scent of many
men, and the view of the ripe hills blotted by talking
wires Where is the eagle Gone Where is the buffalo
Gone ANd wht is it to say goodbye to the swift and
the hunt, the end of living and the beginning of the survival
Chief Seattle to President Franklin Pearce, 1855
