Page:Flint and Feather (1914).djvu/96



The scent of burning leaves, the camp-fire's blaze, The great logs cracking in the brilliant flame, The groups grotesque, on which the firelight plays, Are pictures which Muskoka twilights frame.

And Night, star-crested, wanders up the mere With opiates for idleness to quaff, And while she ministers, far off I hear The owl's uncanny cry, the wild loon's laugh.