File:Out-door reveries (1920) (14764751534).jpg

Identifier: outdoorreveries00jaqu (find matches)
Title: Out-door reveries
Year: 1920 (1920s)
Authors: Jaques, E. Parker Jaques, Francis Lee, 1887-1969
Subjects:
Publisher: Kansas City, Mo. : Burton Pub. Co.
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: Sloan Foundation

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, vainly, plan;From babblers boasting free the mind; The hour needs every man. 90 Outdoor Reveries While needless torture stalks the landWith seekers after fame, Sore is the need, for more just hand,The world is all aflame. Awake the sleeping giants power—Let worth prevail again, And silent do, in trying hour—The need of man is men. Outdoor Reveries 91 A SUMMER OUTING. Where hickory, ash and walnut Their mottled shadows blendOn a carpet of yielding blue-grass Inclosed by a rivers bendAnd a gnarled old water-elm Far over the stream is bent—Undermined by the restless current We pitch our outing tent.For were out for a summer play spell, Mid the woodlands joy of joys—A week with forest echoes— Wife and I, and the boys. And the boys, oh, how they revel In the flush of wild delight;They shout at the swirling river— At the sycamore painted white.Then stop in silent wonderment Their joy half turned to sorrow,For they see if the water keeps running away Twill all be gone tomorrow.
Text Appearing After Image:
Outdoor Reveries 93 Each new delight with shout they greet, And distant echoes groan,As joyous laughter mingles with The plunk of falling stone.While we the children graver grown In climbing lifes incline,More sedately find our pleasure By wielding rod and line. And when the shades .of night have come, We gather in the gloamingAround the camp-fires mystic glow, Aweary with our roaming—In the hush, while day is dying Ere voices of night are abroad,We sit in silent communion, By thunderous stillness awed. Then phantoms of night gather round us And sport amid the trees—Play tag with gathering shadows— I spy, with the evening breeze. 94 Outdoor Reveries From behind each moss-grown tree trunk A cowering phantom leers;Through the dust of by-gone ages We are drawn by the old dead years,To days when the Indians wigwam stood Where today our tent is standing;We hear their war cry through the wood In our fancies wide expanding. We hear the twang of bow-strings throughThe veil our thoughts

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