178 THE LOG OF JHE SUN 



And the marsh is meshed with a million veins, 

 That like as with rosy and silvery essences flow 

 In the rose and silver evening glow. 

 Farewell, my lord Sun ! 

 The creeks overflow; a thousand rivulets run 

 'Twizt the roots of the sod ; the blades of the marsh grass stir; 

 Passeth a hurrying sound of wings that westward whirr. 



SmmsY Lastso. 



