IN A FISHING COUNTRY 



logging-shanty, and does not appear again 

 until the earth shows bare; last year his hi- 

 bernation was from December 1st to April 

 l5th. Two passing chasseurs exchanged 

 words with him, but this was the only in- 

 vasion of his peace; their visit seemed 

 neither welcome nor unwelcome. 



He does not fish or trap; but sleeps, eats, 

 mends the fire, reads his scraps of news- 

 paper and thinks his long thoughts, — con- 

 cerning what in earth or heaven? Have 

 they brought him nearer the Secret? What 

 answer have his solitudes returned to the 

 question, — 



Is there naught in the Heaven above us 

 Whence the hail and the levin are hurled, 

 But the wind that is borne around us 

 By the rush of the rolling world? 



The wind that shall scatter my ashes, 

 And bear me to silence and sleep, 

 With the dirge, and the sound of lamenting. 

 And voices of women who weep- 



. . . For him, nor dirge, nor women's tears, 

 nor any lamentable cry. 



110 



