. Out-door reveries. Outdoor Reveries 15 The king bird chatters so blithely, A willet is screaming with joy,The sounds on the breeze drift lightly To him who has come to destroy. The squawk sounds a discord completely,To the ravens cry loud and harsh, But the whistling widgeon chords sweetlyWith the voice of the teal on the marsh. The curlew is sounding defiant, Its note far reaching and shrill,And is answered, voice self reliant, By the marlin just over the hill. Then a sound is wafted to me Tis musical with glee,Look out now old grouse, for I see you On the Balm-of-Gilead tree. The rifle lig
. Out-door reveries. Outdoor Reveries 15 The king bird chatters so blithely, A willet is screaming with joy,The sounds on the breeze drift lightly To him who has come to destroy. The squawk sounds a discord completely,To the ravens cry loud and harsh, But the whistling widgeon chords sweetlyWith the voice of the teal on the marsh. The curlew is sounding defiant, Its note far reaching and shrill,And is answered, voice self reliant, By the marlin just over the hill. Then a sound is wafted to me Tis musical with glee,Look out now old grouse, for I see you On the Balm-of-Gilead tree. The rifle lightly to shoulder I bring, And oh, what an excellent shot:Full forty yards, and the head off, My reflection completely forgot. I draw a bead at the top of a weed, And again at a distant flower;From weaklings remorse Im quickly freed, It has come and is gone in an hour. I hark to the sound of the Sand Hill CraneOut there on that low browed hill; The thought of destroying gives no pain;I gloat oer my power to Outdoor Reveries 17 Oh Man: in triumphant achievement; In success through science and art;In power of spreading bereavement; In method of stilling a heart. Who can tell the source of our passions? What power mouldeth our taste?Some worry to follow the fashions, Some rejoice at a country laid waste. One laughs as he hoards up his treasure, Another yearns after fame I have heard; But tis sad that any find pleasure,In the killing of even a bird. Anon I hear a wild goose hail To the mate as they swiftly pass, As proud in strength of wing, they sailHigh over the nodding grass. Again the rifle slants upward And again that whip-like soundRings clear upon the autumn air; One struggles in death on the ground. With startled cry, the mate wheels on highAnd the voice is the voice of sorrow, I fondle my rifle and softly sigh As I lay it away for the morrow. 18 Outdoor Reveries For though out in pursuit of the birds of the airAnd fishes that swim in the streams Yet today they are sa
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1920, bookpublisherkansa, bookyear1920
