Out-door reveries (1920) (14580455049)
Identifier: outdoorreveries00jaqu (find matches)
Title: Out-door reveries
Year: 1920 (1920s)
Authors: Jaques, E. Parker Jaques, Francis Lee, 1887-1969
Publisher: Kansas City, Mo. : Burton Pub. Co.
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: Sloan Foundation
Text Appearing Before Image:
•• * Outdoor Retries 13 SPORTSMANS REVERIE. By a rush-fringed stream, in lonely tent, Far from the haunts of men,I listless lie, as the hours drift by, And as listless think, and then,— I think of the mission that brought me here,From my home in the distant east, I think of the sad condition of man,His perversity passeth belief. For Im out in pursuit of the birds of the air,And fishes that swim in the stream; Yet today they are safe from gun or snare,For today Im a dreamer of dreams. My gun in a corner is leaning, A fish-rod lies down by the stream, Where I flung it this morning while gleaningFrom nature, the source of my dream. The birds sing sweetly just outside my door, A grass-plover twitters of loveWhile the mate whistles back his assurance As he floats, a mere speck, far above. From a copse near by comes a cat-birds callAnd a black-birds pert chap-chap, A tell-tale scolds at my canvas wall;A cow-bird peers in at the flap.
Text Appearing After Image:
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 kill. KALE