wilder species come, and winding up close to 

 the clouds, circle and circle there, trying appa- 

 rently to see some meaning in the maze of mov- 

 ing, intersecting lines of dots below yonder in 

 the cracks of that smoking, rumbling blur. 



In the spring, from the trees of the Common, 

 which are close, but, except for the crown of 

 one noble English elm, are shut away from me, 

 I hear an occasional robin and Baltimore oriole. 

 Very rarely a woodpecker will go over. The 

 great northern shrike is a frequent winter visitor, 

 but by ill chance I have not been up when he 

 has called at the roof. 



One of these fiend birds haunts a small court 

 only a block away, which is inclosed in a high 

 board fence, topped with. nails. He likes the 

 court because of these nails. They are sharp ; 

 they will stick clean through the body of a spar- 

 row. Sometimes the fiend has a dozen sparrows 

 run through with them, leaving the impaled 

 bodies to flutter in the wind and finally fall 

 away. 



In sight from my roof are three tiny patches 

 of the harbor ; sometimes a fourth, when the 

 big red-funneled liner is gone from her slip. 

 [13] 



