Woodsy Impressions 



and the last time I visited my pond I beheld it 

 sadly altered, its beauty vanished, its shores 

 flooded, its green trees stark and dead. Unknown 

 to me, however, the mind had made its photo- 

 graphic record, and always I see my pond, as on 

 that perfect day, in its setting of misty-green 

 larches and crimson bog. Again its quiet face 

 changes, like a human face at pleasant thoughts, 

 and over it comes to me the odor of sweet-scented 

 grass. The sunshine brightens it; the clouds 

 shadow it; brilliant dragon-flies play among its 

 bending reeds ; the same brood of ducklings glides 

 in or out from bogan to grassy bogan ; and forever 

 the bear, big and glossy black, goes shuffling along 

 the farther shore. 



