IV.
We sat there and fished with the sun beaming down
On the tops of our heads through hats minus crown,
And when I got a bite or you caught a perch
We'd just give our lines a thundering lurch,
And land him high up on the bank in the weeds,
Then string him along with the pumpkin seeds!
O don't you remember the hot, dusky walk,
Along the white pike to the old Hanging Fork?
SWEET SEPTEMBER DAYS.
I.
There's a something in the atmosphere, in sweet September days,
That mantles all the landscape with its languid, dreamy haze;
And you see the leaves a-dropping, in a lazy kind of way,
Where the maple trees are standing in their Summer-time array.
II.
There's a yellowish tinge a-creeping over Nature's emerald sheen,
And the cattle stand, half-sleeping, in the middle of the stream
Where the glassy pool is shaded by the overhanging limb,
And the pebbly bottom's glinting where the silvery minnows swim.
III.