A SONG OF SUMMER 73 



run wild, and in an ecstasy he leaps 

 and dashes to and fro. 



Colin once followed the track of 

 every field-mouse, scented the birds 

 when neither human eye nor ear could 

 detect them, crossed the country 

 straight, leaped ditches, swam streams, 

 but now grown old he waits until the 

 bars are dropped, pretends he does not 

 scent the trails he may no longer 

 explore, and trusting us to choose an 

 easy way, follows, looking up and rub- 

 bing his soft ears against us, his great 

 brown eyes mutely confident; turning 

 to man, to his dog-brain a god, to 

 spare his age. Now wading deep in a 

 maze of grass, weeds, ferns, we press 

 through the unkempt lot to a great 

 band of trees, and from them toward 

 the heated body comes a wave of cool- 

 ness, grateful as a refreshing draught to 

 the lips or as music to the heart. 



