58 BUSH DAYS 



in the far-off days caught the spirit of the embodied joy, and 

 set it in a song for all to hear : 



" Better than all measures 



Of delightful sound, 

 Better than all treasures 



That in books are found, 

 Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground." 



Some day, it may be, one of our poets will hear the singing 

 of our birds, and translate it into golden words. But while we 

 are waiting for our Shelley or our Keats, the skylark of the 

 poets lifts his glad voice within our city park, and pours his 

 song from heaven's gate, the golden mouthpiece of all sweet, 

 neglected singers. 



