Songs of the Fields 



very close earth to hear, because the creek has such 

 mighty responsibility it hesitates to sing loudly lest 

 it appear to boast. All these creatures to feed and 

 water; all these trees and plants to nourish! The 

 creek is so happy that it can do all this, and if 

 it runs swiftly other woods, thickets, fields, and 

 meadows can be watered. Then the river must be 

 reached as soon as possible, for there are factory 

 wheels to be turned, boats to be carried, and the 

 creek has heard that some day it is to be a part of 

 the great ocean. When the Limberlost thinks of 

 that its song grows a little more exultant and 

 proud, bends are swept with swifter measure, 

 louder notes are sung, and every bird, bee, insect, 

 man, and child along the banks joins in the accom- 

 paniment. All the trees rustle and whisper, shak- 

 ing their branches to shower it with a baptism of 

 gold in pollen time. The rushes and blue flags 

 murmur together, and the creek and every sound 

 belonging to it all combine in the song of the Lim- 

 berlost. 



Sometimes it slips into the thicket, as on the 

 Bone farm; for it is impartial, and perhaps feels 

 more at home there than in the meadows, surely The 

 more than in cultivated fields, where the banks 

 often are stripped bare, the waters grow feverish 

 and fetid, its song is hushed, and its spirit broken. 

 But in the thicket the birds gather very low above 

 the surface, the branches dip into the friendly 

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