Magic

We have Booth by old farmer on the spot.
Robust and it was right, his body steel
With tenacity and age. We have our eyes
Flinched who never shot or compromise,
And "opportunity", he cried, "good luck!" And a sign, arms,
Knotted boat and how, how, for example, farm
In each of Maine was able to boast, and the difference
He turned back on the amount of his new hair cut hay. . .
It was a pleasant, to curve
He has once more demonstrated now works in the late
At a big way to its eighty years
As the flags in the wind lifted thunder.

Then we have suddenly taken off the road
Cup village, the one with the commander
Looking from the river. And we Strode
Faster now on the long pier which has shown
If the fragile boats were kept Indian Landing.
In the dinghy, we strengthened our paddle hardened
The decline in leisure, and the thin bark glided
Information on the water. Well then
We turned the nose curling against the current,
Feeling the rise of the river half a deterrent
Pull out the range that we turned the blade
In order not swerving rounds, while we delayed
To the curious wavelength eaten locks;
Or pass, with lazy, alternately, picnic rocks ....
Blue eels flew among us, and the fish dieted
A thousand possibilities, the great chain, once declined.
And about the wise and noble heart
Twilight tilted downwards, the sunset, fog were separated --
And we, with reflections on tiptoe, slunk
Down the green, the rotation of the streets Kennebunk,

Property in meadows
The trees, rocks, the cows. . .
And quiet drips from the shadows
As the heavy rain parts.

The tree toads are ringing
The constant bells money;
A country without a breeze came coast swing
His country incense boiler odors.

The Little River Canyon
Ausdehnend in dark areas;
Like a dark and silent companion
Evening was held in his hand.

Maire the twilight bravadoes;
For lunch, cut a scream --
And quietly slipped the shadow
In gliding stars from the sky. . .

It must be one hour longer, or later,
If the stagnation again through the forest Piney,
We thought that the years fly back, fraternity
The forests We had and we have seen the satyre!
There is a swimming pool, until her neck, when he returned
And to see smile we look infidels --
To surprise, not to forget the fear or theft.
Feeling the threat in the night tricky,
We have turned, if the execution is here, he called to us!
With our behalf much he called it. We have made
With squealing the courage to Avenue
From birches, until we have seen, the compensation,
(Not by a more sensitive, light green light)
Familiar curves and shrubs, user-friendly way --
And Farmer Booth by wood in his bath!
The wood is on his background, every tree
Resemblant part of it, and was created, and the release of
The beauty of this serenity Theodosius;
The power of the silence of age, the smiles and squared
His shoulders against the clock. . . And in the same night
Free in and out of it, as if the contents
With such a native element;
frosh, a spirit completely
Like the old, as well as Placid and confident. . .
Sideways we shot. More and shiny and unclad
He made a leap in the bank, the light like a boy,
His body drops in the moonlight stars. . .

We went back in through the pasture bars.