154 Idylls of the Field. 



The camp is silent now : the birds have flown. 

 They have gone back into the smoke and turmoil of 

 the streets, their young lives brightened by memories 

 of meadow and hilltop, of songs of birds and scent of 

 flowers : memories, perchance, that 



In the sorrow and strife of their after-life, 

 Will come back to their hearts in dreams. 



