Are caught by silver beams,
That revel in the meshes
Of his leafy net of dreams.
With the weariness of fulfillment,
His tendril woven brow
Is bowed before the mystery
Of the eternal Why and How.
III
THE BRASS BOUND BOX
Jerry Island was formed by one of the side currents of the river that wandered off through the woods and lowland and rejoined the main stream above the Big Marsh.
The herons, bitterns and wild ducks swept low over the brush entangled water course and dropped into the quiet open places. Innumerable clusters of small mud turtles fringed the drift wood and fallen timbers that retarded the sluggish current. The patriarchs of the hard shelled brotherhood—moss covered and intolerant—spent their days on the half-submerged gray logs in somnolent isolation.