kristel's soliloquy.
101
Lagunas, islanding many a grove;
And if the waters me defraud
Of homestead and home, and turd my cabin
Into a raft,—I do not murmur
More than a thrush, whose nest in summer,
A twisted branch of ash displaces;
For are there not a million places,
And leaves in the wood for the minstrel free,
And a million logs as well for me?
And if the waters me defraud
Of homestead and home, and turd my cabin
Into a raft,—I do not murmur
More than a thrush, whose nest in summer,
A twisted branch of ash displaces;
For are there not a million places,
And leaves in the wood for the minstrel free,
And a million logs as well for me?
Such is my manhood's outer shell.
Over many a flowery swell
I follow the trail to hunter dear.
The plain's long-bearded nobles rear
Their ponderous fronts, and snuff with doubt
The air my rifle scatters about.
Whether at midnight or at noon,
At the hour beloved of the rising moon,
When the deer come forth from their shady lair,
I watch by the licks, or in the dark
Over many a flowery swell
I follow the trail to hunter dear.
The plain's long-bearded nobles rear
Their ponderous fronts, and snuff with doubt
The air my rifle scatters about.
Whether at midnight or at noon,
At the hour beloved of the rising moon,
When the deer come forth from their shady lair,
I watch by the licks, or in the dark
