Classic Poem

Behind the hill near the old saw-mill
Where the quiet waters flow,
Where the school-boys swim when the light is dim,
We played long years ago;
And I often dream of that winding stream
Where the long-leaved rushes grow,
Of the worms in a tin that we stuck on a pin
To fish in the Tobico.

When school was out, with a leap and a shout
We rushed to the river's side,
And all the boys with a merry noise
Plunged into its cooling tide;
We swam elate 'neath the old swing-gate
Where the geese to the pastures go,
Or sprang from the bank and merrily sank
With a splash in the Tobico.

When the sunset flame and the twilight came
We lay at the streamlet's edge
While the whip-poor-will sang loud and shrill
And the frog croaked in the sedge;
The tune so sharp of the cricket's harp
Rang out while we whispered low
As we lay on the ground and heard the sound
Of the rippling Tobico.

The snow-banks white in the pale moonlight
Still stand out keen and clear
And the friendly haze of those olden days
Is yet to my memory dear;
I linger still by the ice-bound rill
Where we skated long ago
In the clear starlight of the winter night
On the " Little Tobico. "