Saturday, January 12, 2013

Down along the dwindled creek
We go loitering. We speak
Only with old questionings
Of the dear remembered things
Of the days of long ago, 
When the stream seemed thus and so
In our boyish eyes:--- The bank
Greener then, through rank on rank
Of the mottled sycamores,
Touching tops across the shores:
Here, the hazel thicket stood ---
There, the almost pathless wood
Where the shellbark hickory tree
Rained its wealth on you and me. 
Autumn! as you loved us then,
Take us to your heart again!

James Whitcomb Riley, from Time of Clearer Twitterings

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