WOOD ROADS 



you through the Talbot plains where tan- 

 brown levels stretch far to the northward, 

 seeming to shrink suddenly back from the 

 overhanging bulk of Great Blue Hill, and 

 it leads again into the tall oak woods, 

 where later the warbling vireos will swing 

 in the topmost branches and cheer the 

 solemn arches with their gentle carols. 

 By-and-by the bog ends and the path 

 marks the dividing line between the bul- 

 rushes, marsh grass, bog-hobble wickets, 

 and mingled debris of last summer's 

 thorough wort, and joepye weed, and 

 marsh St. John's-wort on the one hand, 

 and the soft pinky grays of the wood 

 on the other. 



The climbing sun shines in here fer- 

 vently, and the clear waters lap on the 

 sand and croon among the water weeds 

 with all the semblance of summer. No 

 wonder the wild ducks linger long. The 

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