WILD PASTURES 



go by will make the quaking sphagnum 

 firm meadow land. 



For all you and I know, the Metro- 

 politan Park Commission of the year 

 3908 will be fixing up a second Frank- 

 lin Field here for the camping ground 

 of visiting Pythians. Meanwhile let us 

 hasten to enjoy our bog and its reedy 

 borders. 



It is the home and the occasional rest- 

 ing place of many a wild free creature. 

 Of a clear midsummer evening you may 

 hear the muskrat grubbing roots there, 

 see, perhaps, the moonlight glint on the 

 long V-shaped ripple which he makes as 

 he swims, and hear his snort and splash 

 when he dives at sudden sight of you. 

 You may chance upon a disconsolate 

 bittern sitting clumsily in dumpy pa- 

 tience as he waits for food to splash 

 up to him, and you may even hear him 

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