Tales of the Chesapeake
A fruity smell is in the school-house lane; The clover bees are sick with evening heats; A few old houses from the window-pane; Fling back the flame of sunset and there beats; The throb of oars from basking oyster fleets; And clangorous music of the oyster tongs; Plunged down in deep bivalvulous retreats; And sound of seine drawn home with negro songs. --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.
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