Catching a note from me.
And down through the woods to the swimming-hole—
Where the big, white, hollow, old sycamore grows,—
And we never cared when the water was cold.
And always "clucked" the boy that told
On the fellow that tied the clothes.—
When life went so like a dreamy rhyme
That it seems to me now that then
The world was having a jollier time