. Poems of life in the country and by the sea. hoto by Beckwith. In Michigan. 23 POEMS FROM LIFES EXPERIENCE THE VACATION REST Here in the country a few short where Nature its language speaks,Speaks with a voice that is sweet and low,Speaks with its beauties me gaily the white clouds sail,Over each hill and fertile vale,Songs of the birds and low of the kine,Songs never written and all are are the worries, toil, and are the burdens of city life;Life while I linger is passing full of joy that is joy complete. The lights and shadows oer w
. Poems of life in the country and by the sea. hoto by Beckwith. In Michigan. 23 POEMS FROM LIFES EXPERIENCE THE VACATION REST Here in the country a few short where Nature its language speaks,Speaks with a voice that is sweet and low,Speaks with its beauties me gaily the white clouds sail,Over each hill and fertile vale,Songs of the birds and low of the kine,Songs never written and all are are the worries, toil, and are the burdens of city life;Life while I linger is passing full of joy that is joy complete. The lights and shadows oer waving grass Like fairies dance when the cloudlets pass; In the valley of peace the river glides, Seeking afar for the ocean tides. Grassy the banks, and the odors sweet Of the lilies bloom near the birds retreat. Go to the country a few short weeks, Go where Nature its language speaks. Go, yes go, though you go alone. For, your strength increased, your cares oerthrown, The storms of life will try in vain To wreck your bark when home again. 24. Gone are the burdens of city life. Photo by BeckwithIn Michigan POEMS FROM LIFES EXPERIENCE GOING A FISHING Twas a day I shall always lemembe. A most beautiful day in September,Not a cloud in the skyAnd our spirits were high; Life, with us, was far from an ember All the summer we boys had been wishingFor the time when we could go fishing,So we cut some birch poles,Dug the worms from mud holes,While mother our luncheon was dishing. Then we harnessed old black and the gray,Hitched them fast to an ancient coupe,Put in bait, hook and line,Stuck the poles out behind,And our rollicking crew sped away. By upland and valley and meadow,Neath cloudland and sunlight and shadow,Down the white sandy roadWhere the goldenrod glowedNear the red of the sumac, in yellow. Soon the pond, a fair picture in blue,And some flat-bottomed boats came in view; So we slackened our speed, Tied the horses for feed,And bid summers labor adieu. O that day, it was surely
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