Seek Not For Fresher Founts

One Day Through The Primeval Wood A Calf Walked Home As Good Calves Should; But Made A Trail All Bent Askew, A Crooked Trail As All Calves Do. . . . . And Men Two Centuries And A Half Trod In The Footsteps Of That Calf.

The Woods Were Made For The Hunter Of Dreams...

There Are Purple Grapes In The Land Of Git-thare.

The Woods Were Made For The Hunters Of Dreams, The Brooks For The Fishers Of Song; To The Hunters Who Hunt For The Gunless Game The Streams And The Woods Belong.

The Woods Were Made For The Hunters Of Dreams, The Brooks For The Fisher Of Song; To The Hunters Who Hunt For The Gunless Game The Streams And The Woods Belong. There Are Thoughts That Moan From The Soul Of The Pine And Thoughts In A Flower-bell Curled; And The Thoughts That Are Blown With The Scent Of The Fern Are As New And As Old As The World.