WOODCOCK VESPERS 247 



wing again, whistling as he goes. He flies 

 straight from me, for this time, by good 

 hick, I see him as he starts, and mounts 

 and mounts. Then, far, far up, he whistles, 

 zip, zip, and then, when he can stay no 

 longer, comes down in crazy zigzags. 



A wonderful display. If a man could be 

 as truly enraptured as the woodcock seems 

 to be, he would know the joys of the blest. 

 I wonder how many thousand Aprils this 

 cumbrous-looking, gross-looking, unpoetical- 

 looking bird has been disporting himself thus 

 at heaven's gate. There must be a real soul 

 in a creature, no matter what his appearance, 

 who is capable of such transports and ravish- 

 ments, such marvelous upliftings, such mad 

 reaches after the infinite. 



I listen and wonder, and then come away, 

 meditating on what I have seen and heard. 

 The last of the small birds have fallen si- 

 lent. Only a few hylas are peeping as I 

 pass a cranberry meadow. Then, halfway 

 home, as the road traverses a piece of woods, 

 with a brook singing on one side, and the 

 moon peeping through fleecy clouds, sud- 

 denly I halt. That was a screech owl's 



