THE CROW 



Careless and uncared for, what happy 

 lives they lead, sauntering on sagging 

 wing through the sunshine from chosen 

 field to chosen wood, and at nightfall 

 encamping in the fragrant tents of the 

 pines. 



At last the gay banners of autumn 

 signal departure, and the gathered clans 

 file away in straggling columns, flecking 

 the blue sky with pulsating dots of black- 

 ness, the green earth with wavering 

 shadows. Sadly we watch the retreat of 

 the sable cohorts, whose desertion leaves 

 our northern homes to the desolation of 

 winter. 



SI 



