Songs of the field . t upon the tide,With all their ducklings by their muskrat cuts the water through,While just the nose protrudes to swimming in the streamNow and then a fish is the banks the tadpoles lie,To make frog chorus bye and bye. The swift canoe, with paddlers skill,Goes gliding oer the river red mans feathers now are seen,The pale-face floats upon the baptized with Indian loreThe river knows no red man more,Yet now we hear the putter put,As motor boats the wavelets cut. i6 1 Songs of the Field It twists and winds, is never still,F
Songs of the field . t upon the tide,With all their ducklings by their muskrat cuts the water through,While just the nose protrudes to swimming in the streamNow and then a fish is the banks the tadpoles lie,To make frog chorus bye and bye. The swift canoe, with paddlers skill,Goes gliding oer the river red mans feathers now are seen,The pale-face floats upon the baptized with Indian loreThe river knows no red man more,Yet now we hear the putter put,As motor boats the wavelets cut. i6 1 Songs of the Field It twists and winds, is never still,Flows by hamlet, turn, and hill,Commanding love from every side,Harnessed for manufacturers bride;So on, and on, yet just begun,So many wheels in smoothness run. That for its size it has been saidContoocooks mills in numbers every bank, fern and fellWe hear the tinkling of the cows are coming to be found the Merrimacks bed,So on they glide together free,Contoocook sparkles in the 7 SOXGS OF THE FlELD THE OLD APPLE BASKET ^Tt**?*^ fSF1 ? *n ^^:- -P ?1 ... ?Mtfb ^gv . -- 1 ri . .ss^ff* \ : rj,—. - ., ^58^ -*m-v. nHf :4» 1 ^^rmk^^sfWrt ? ^*!«»w. * . ^B^ ^ -^s i Tired with all this world of work I look oft backward, let memory lurk; It hangs to childhood ever free. The same old songs come back to me. The sunshine streams on the kitchen floor; The stove is blacked from rim to door; The old table stands in its cloth of red While the old brown chest lifts a stately head The teakettle sings a song of cheerTo three merry faces crowding near,And last, but not least, in our estimationThe old apple basket for accommodation, [18] Songs of the Field Filled to the brim with red; yellow and green,Smooth, clear skinned apples as ever was from the old archs gaping mouth,Piled to the top from North to the No hint of wrecked fruit yet to be,No moth nest then on bush or sunlight, rain and mild winds blow,Ma
Size: 1947px × 1284px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookau, bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, bookidsongsoffield00favo
