Round Robin Hood's Barn 



Bubbles rise that mark the ways of swimmers 

 down below. Save for the bittern who is im- 

 perturbable, the pond is quite deserted. I must 

 return a good hour later, if I am to find the 

 drama on, the roles resumed. 



There is small cause to Unger solitary, grilling 

 in the sunlight, for if I skirt a cape of swampy 

 imdergTowth, I shall come into a tunnel walled 

 with bayberry and roofed with boughs and droop- 

 ing vines. You would never think that I could 

 find a break in all this tangle, and yet I know 

 that I could foot it bhnd. Much would I miss 

 of color, the flecks and shafts of sim on solemn 

 green, the tawny brown in which each winter 

 leaves the oak trees standing ankle deep. Yet 

 by a most sweet perfvmie that assaUs me, I should 

 know where the swamp azalea was blowing 

 out its sticky trumpets and breaking the cool 

 shadows with white gleams. And with its scent 

 would come back an old association. I should 

 image close below the Canadian lily lifting up 

 its single scarlet cup. Moreover, where the path 

 turns slippery with needles and is charged with 

 resin, I should go scrambling up until I made my 



[169] 



