My First Summer 



dipping sedge-leaves and bushes and mossy 

 stones, swirling in pools, dividing against 

 little flowery islands, breaking gray and 

 white here and there, ever rejoicing, yet 

 with deep solemn undertones recalling the 

 ocean, the brave little bird ever beside 

 them, singing with sweet human tones 

 among the waltzing foam-bells, and like a 

 blessed evangel explaining God's love. And 

 the Pilot Peak Ridge, its long withdrawing 

 slopes gracefully modeled and braided, 

 reaching from climate to climate, feathered 

 with trees that are the kings of their race, 

 their ranks nobly marshaled to view, spire 

 above spire, crown above crown, waving 

 their long, leafy arms, tossing their cones 

 like ringing bells, blessed sun-fed moun- 

 taineers rejoicing in their strength, every 

 tree tuneful, a harp for the winds and the 

 sun. The hazel and buckthorn pastures of 

 the deer, the sun-beaten brows purple and 

 yellow with mint and golden-rods, carpeted 

 with chamoebatia, humming with bees. 

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