Calm are the delights...

    ...Of talking the best fishing holes,
     and all the beautiful bass ponds
     with a kind-minded Swamp Yankee,
     large of body and soul.

    Calm, too, the holy fragrance drifting
    Of sweet pepperbush, under the moon;
    Of bats swooping bugs, and the clear cold cry
    Of that splendid living ghost: the loon.

    So Swamp Yankees and loons,
    I number ye my friends,
    Not as friends today are called;
    But as friends did oncely howl
    In the far-lost days of Auld.