THE BLOODLESS SPORTSMEN. 
I GO A-GUNNING, but take no gun; 
I fish without a pole ; 
And I bag good game and catch such fish 
As suit a sportsman's soul ; 
For the choicest game that the forest holds. 
And the best fish of the brook, 
Are never brought down by a rifle shot 
And are never caught with a hook. 
I bob for fish by the the forest brook, 
I hunt for game in the trees, 
For bigger birds than wing the air 
Or fish that swim the seas. 
A rodless Walton of the brooks 
A bloodless sportsman, I — 
I hunt for the thoughts that throng the woods, 
The dreams that haunt the sky. 
The woods were made for the hunters of dreams, 
The brooks for the fishers of song ; 
To the hunters who hunt for the gunless game 
The streams and the woods belong. 
There are thoughts that moan from the soul of the pine, 
And thoughts in a flower bell curled ; 
And the thoughts that are blown with the scent of the fern 
Are as new and as old as the world. 
—Sam Walter Foss. 
A BOOK BY THE BROOK. 
Give me a nook and a brook, 
And let the proud world spin round ; 
Let it scramble by hook or by crook 
For wealth or name with a sound, 
You are welcome to amble your ways, 
Aspirers to place or to glory ; 
May big bells jangle your praise, 
And golden pens blazon your story ; 
For me, let me dwell in my nook, 
Here by the curve of this brook, 
That croons to the tune of my book, 
Whose melody wafts me forever 
On the waves of an unseen river ! 
— James Freeman Clarke. 
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