THE WILD GEESE 33 



in the wake of another, who cleaves the air before 

 him; perhaps the parent bird flies for a while by 

 his side to encourage him." 



What meaning, and yet what mystery, that line 

 of winging geese has for us when we remember 

 all of this ! 



I want you to hear them going over this fall, 

 and again and again as the autumns come and go. 

 Then I want you to learn by heart the whole of 

 this beautiful poem by William Cullen Bryant, 

 so that every time you hear the honking of the 

 wild geese you can repeat these lines : 



TO A WATERFOWL 



Whither, midst falling dew, 



While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, 

 Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue 



Thy solitary way ? 



Vainly the fowler's eye 



Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, 

 As, darkly seen against the crimson sky, 



Thy figure floats along. 



Seek'st thou the plashy brink 

 Of weedy lake or marge of river wide, 

 Or where the rocking billows rise and sink 



On the chafed ocean-side? 



There is a Power whose care 

 Teaches thy way along that pathless coast 

 The desert and illimitable air 



Lone wandering, but not lost. 



