Driving the small sandpiper before us.
FOG[497]
Thou drifting meadow of the air,
Where bloom the daisied banks and violets,
And in whose fenny labyrinths
The bittern booms and curlew peeps,
The heron wades and boding rain-crow clucks;
Low-anchored cloud,
Newfoundland air,
Fountain-head and source of rivers,