with a reach of the lusty docks between me and 

 either shore. It was early morning. The yellow, 

 dew-laid road down which I came still slumbered 

 undisturbed ; the village cows had not been 

 milked, and the pasture slope, rounding with a 

 feminine grace of curve and form, lay asleep, 

 with its sedgy fingers trailing in the water ; even 

 the locomotive in the little terminal round- 

 house over the hill was not awake and wheezing. 

 But the creek people were stirring— except the 

 frogs. They were growing sleepy. The long 

 June night they had improved, soberly, philo- 

 sophically ; and now, seeing nothing worth while 

 in the dawn of this wonder day, they had begun 

 to doze. But the birds were alive, full of the 

 crisp June morning, of its overflow of gladness, 

 and were telling their joy in chorus up and down 

 both banks of the creek. 



Hearkneth thise blisful briddes how they singe. 



Do you mean out in Finsbury Moor, Father 

 Chaucer ? They were sweet along the banks of 

 the Walbrook, I know, for among them "maken 

 melodye " were the skylark, ethereal minstrel ! 

 and the nightingale. But, Father Chaucer, you 

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