The summer sky overhead, and summer in my heart.
Oh, happy summer days gone by—gone by, fur back you lay in the past, and the June skies now have lost that old light and freshness.
But poor children that we are, we still keep on a-fishin' with our bent pin-hooks; we still drop our weak lines down into the depths, a-fishin' for happiness, for rest, for ambition, for Heaven knows what all—and now, as in the past, our hooks break or our lines float away on the eddies, and we don't catch what we are after.
Poor children! poor creeters!
But I am eppisodin', and to resoom.
As I said to Josiah, what a oversight that wuz my not thinkin' of it!
Sez I, "How the nations would have prized them trees!" And sez I,
"What would Christopher Columbus say if he knew on't?"
And Josiah sez, "He guessed he would have got along without 'em."