MARSH CRADLES 
Dear marshes! Vain to him the gift of sight 
Who cannot in their various incomes share, 
From every season drawn, of shade and light. 
Who sees in them but levels brown and bare. 
Each change of storm or sunshine scatters free 
On them its largess of variety. 
For Nature with cheap means still works her wonders 
rare. Lowell. 
A TRAMP through the marshes at 
four A. M., waist-deep in the lush 
wild grass, the mists veiling the wonderful 
unseen beyond, and, in the near distance, 
the pink of the mallows, the purple of the iris, 
and the yellow of the marigold still heavy 
with the dew, reflecting the glories of the 
sunrise sky ; to hear the bird chorus as you 
never hear it at any other hour of the day ; to 
see the birds waken, stretch their little wings, 
and enjoy a morning bath, splashing and 
dashing as if they could never have enough 
of the cool fresh water ; to watch them 
shake and preen their little wet feathers as 
