62 Bird Day Book 



THE HUNTER'S MOON. 



ALL DAY in the woods primeval 

 We chased the timid deer, 

 Till we saw the red of the sunset 



Through the tree trunks disappear, 

 Then camped in a little clearing, 



At the end of the lonesome trail, 

 And watched the twilight round us 

 Spinning her silver veil. 

 — Minna Irving, in New York Times. 



And there as we sat and rested 



And basked in the camp fire glow, 

 We wondered where Jim and Henry 



Had wandered with little Joe. 

 We noticed the moon was rising 



And softly the south wind sighed; 

 Then Henry and Jim came bearing 



The form of the punctured guide. 



— Cleveland Plain Dealer. 



a a a 



SOLITUDE. 



DEEP in the hemlock forest, shadowy, 

 And weird, and dim, 'mid silence so profound 

 I pause, enchanted. Footfalls make no sound, 

 But on the yielding moss drop noiselessly. 

 Great boughs of green, high arching over me — 

 A vast cathedral dome ; and all around 

 Rise stately pillars of the forest, wound 

 About with clinging vines. A harmony 

 Of colors everywhere. The morning air, 

 Sweet with the spicy odors of the wood, 

 Brings ever and anon the perfume rare 

 Of pink arbutus ; and, as if I stood 

 Within a temple, here in silent prayer 

 I bow my head — and know that God is good. 



— James William Callahan. 



