. Rhymes of the stream and forest. ng sweetly as they glide away, Their magic then once more brings oer me,Fond memories of a by-gone day. From out the murmur of the waters,Voices of friends I used to know There once again, seem they to call meBack to those days of long ago. The stream, the moss-grown bank, the forestThen from my vision slowly fade. Once more in fancy am I roaming Where boyhoods happy scenes were laid. Rhymes of the Stream and Forest. The stream where first I learned of fishing,The pond oer which the willow hung, The swimmin hole, the elm above itFrom where in June the robin s
. Rhymes of the stream and forest. ng sweetly as they glide away, Their magic then once more brings oer me,Fond memories of a by-gone day. From out the murmur of the waters,Voices of friends I used to know There once again, seem they to call meBack to those days of long ago. The stream, the moss-grown bank, the forestThen from my vision slowly fade. Once more in fancy am I roaming Where boyhoods happy scenes were laid. Rhymes of the Stream and Forest. The stream where first I learned of fishing,The pond oer which the willow hung, The swimmin hole, the elm above itFrom where in June the robin sung. The scent of daisies from the meadow, The bobolinks clear quails far call from out the pasture, The breath of that fair Summers day. The wood where in the Fall we gathered The nuts among the fallen leaves,The spell of Winter oer the woodland, Its hush again my soul receives. Then do you wonder that I love it. Sweet music of a forest stream,That round my soul weaves such enchantment, The gladness of a boyhood \Valton s Angler Old Walton! Here within thy book what sweet-ness lies. What whispered fancies here from out thy pagesrise, Of waters flowing peacefully neath summerskies. Of shadowed nooks upon some quiet riversshore, Where far from deafening tumult of the citysroar, One turns for rest when for a time his task isoer. Rhymes of the Stream and Forest. Of meadows freshened by the gently faUing rain, Of wayside inns, where old-time friends meet once again,To crack a merry jest or sing some old refrain. In fancy thus I catch the flowing river where,Bathed by the incense of the perfume-laden air,You, Walton, stand in pure contentment fishingthere.
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookpublishernewyorkforestandst
