. Country life reader . hed up and seededa dozen times since then; and other fields are used for pas-ture while it is having a rest. But in my boyhood daysthe field by the creek was one place on the farm that re-mained unchanged. The old days with the old delightsof boyhood can never return; but I can still see the railfence and the path which led to the creek, and the oldelm with the cattle crowded together in its shade; I canstill recall the fresh earthy odors of spring and hear thecall of the bird and the soft rippHng of the waters of thestream, and up the long lane through the gatheringtwi
. Country life reader . hed up and seededa dozen times since then; and other fields are used for pas-ture while it is having a rest. But in my boyhood daysthe field by the creek was one place on the farm that re-mained unchanged. The old days with the old delightsof boyhood can never return; but I can still see the railfence and the path which led to the creek, and the oldelm with the cattle crowded together in its shade; I canstill recall the fresh earthy odors of spring and hear thecall of the bird and the soft rippHng of the waters of thestream, and up the long lane through the gatheringtwilight can see the procession of cattle moving slowlyhome. THE OLD PASTURE-FIELD 401 With klingle, klangle, klingle,Far down the dusky dingle,The cows are coming home;Now sweet and clear, and faint and airy tinklings come and chimings from some far-off patterings of an April showerThat makes the daisies grow—Ko-ling, ko-lang, down the darkening dingleThe cows come slowly A BIRDS ELEGY He was the first to welcome spring; Adventurous he cameTo wake the dreaming buds and sing The crocus into flame. He loved the morning and the dew; He loved the sun and rain;He fashioned lyrics as he flew, With love for their refrain. Poet of vines and blossoms, he; Beloved of them all;The timid leaves upon the tree Grew bold at his glad call. He sang the rapture of the hills. And from the starry heightHe brought the melody that fills The meadows with delight. And now behold him dead, alas! Where he made joy so long:A bit of blue amid the grass— A tiny, broken song. Frank Dempster Sherman. 402 THE POOR MANS FARM / returned and saw under the sun that the race is not tothe swift nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to thewise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favorto men of skill—hut time and chance happeneth to them allWherefore I perceive that there is nothing better than thata man should rejoice in his own works . . t
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