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NA T U RE-STUD Y RE VIE W 



[12:7-Oct., 1916 



Hear the buzz of a passing fly and the drone of a friendless bee 

 Watch the cheek-full squirrel skitter along his fence-ways 

 See the quick scud of the chipmunk 

 I look for the rills that lead into the deep enchanted woods. — 

 I long to go where the nyssa holds its crimson and swamp-maple 

 flames its scarlet. 



Floating, sailing, turning, the autumn leaves drop one by one. 



Content I sit in silence, and let the color fill my soul. 



We all rest at last with the sad and silent noises of October. 



Ye burning swamps and retinue 



Of poplars gold and asters blue 



That Fall hath drawn her fingers through 



With red and flame and russet hue, — 



I come to coin my day with you. 



The streams are still 

 The year is ripe. 



