paradise Circle 



de Leon went looking about in the land of 

 flowers for that magical well-head which 

 was to blacken his gray hairs, renew his 

 teeth, whisk the wrinkles from his face, 

 and revive in his veins an everlasting bub- 

 ble of joyous vigor, it would have been 

 enough for me could I have trudged apace 

 with him and filled innumerable note- 

 books with sketches and descriptions of all 

 the swarming and clamoring forms in tree- 

 top, thicket, brake, on stream, pond, lily- 

 pad, and floating weed-raft. Fountain of 

 Youth go hang, fabulous gold-mines con- 

 tinue to shimmer in the distance ! Give me 

 the wind-song, the bird-song, and the ever 

 fresh surprise of a new flash of color swung 

 across a glade or forest-rift by paroquet 

 or ibis or flamingo. 



As it is I must be content, as best I 

 can, to seek the unshorn nooks which may 

 still be found here and yonder, spots like 

 Paradise Circle, where the old fresh spirit 

 of wild nature yet keeps faith with the 

 birds. And if I cannot there write a book, 

 I can read one at will, hearing meantime 

 the same aerial voices that beat upon 

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