BY MELANCTHON FAIRCHILD.
One sultry, slumb'rous summer day
I walked from village streets away,
Into the damp, dark forest's shade,
Where sunlight dappled in a glade.
A dragon fly, poised in the air,
Hung like a jewel flashing there.
In insect's chirp and song of bird
The pipes of Pan I thought I heard.
As fauns and dryads danced with glee
In pagan days of Arcady,
'Mid rustling leaves of aspen trees
And drowsy hum of honeybees.
The cicada's shrill monotone,
The turtle dove's low, plaintive moan,
As sweet and poignant seemed to me
As o'er they were in Arcady.
Troy Times. August 14, 1919: 11 col 4.