156 WITH EARTH AND SKY 
lake. The phoebe still makes mention of her 
name. My boat looks at her own lovely shadow 
in the water. But we must on. Then I dig my 
one oar into the crystal wave and make glad 
way out far to sea. It is so trancing to stand out 
well from land in this bonny craft and from afar 
out look at the dunes aflame in the morning 
sun. The air is crystal like the wave. I see the 
far north sandheadlands stand up like a cliff of 
the sea. But my boat and I must turn toward 
the river waiting for us. Low against the water 
anything on the shore has a height because my 
boat and I are part of the water. We are not 
haughty, only calmly content to see all things 
on the shore or in depth of wave. Still not a 
ripple on the water. After long vagabondage 
on the lake with no destination and no engage- 
ment to shorten our-engagement with the wonder 
of the sea and summer sky, the boat swerving 
to the slightest touch of oar, I turn prow shore- 
ward, go up the winding river so dear to my 
memory and on every curve of the bank is the 
sleepy nodding of the redolent green things of 
water and shore and I note the bashful beauty 
of the birch trees along the climbing sides of the 
stream which climb up to the austere altitude 
soberly yclept “Mount,” and where the river 
turns and looks long miles inland I anchor and 
lay the oar down for rest while I who plied it 
go to breakfast with the dear folks of my 
household, 
