IQ3 



rose and elder and grape blossoms by ten 

 thousands send wafts of vivid fragrance into 

 the morning air. A heavier scent under- 

 lies and strengthens it something subtle 

 and penetrating, faint yet vivifying, like the 

 smell of clean, fresh-turned earth. It is the 

 odor of wheat -fields yellow unto harvest. 

 See how they spread broad, billowing reach- 

 es that the first low level sunbeams turn to 

 midsummer gold ! If, indeed, Persephone 

 came back to earth in such guise, well might 

 Demeter, the great mother, rejoice and make 

 festival over the coming. Here are the 

 year's first fruits, the most golden gift in all 

 the horn of plenty. Mark the grace of it. 

 The sere blades drooping at the root, stalks 

 upright in their bravery of golden mail, bent 

 bearded heads, with a dew pearl on the tip 

 of each defensive spear. Some few, you 

 will note, stand pertly upright. The har- 

 vest-master will tell you there is nothing 

 but chaff in them ; and, if so minded, you 

 can draw a moral of the humility of full 

 heads. But not at the minute. Sharp 

 through the sylvan chorus come the clang 

 of whetted steel, the blur of wheels and 

 hoofs, and men's voices. The cradlers have 

 trooped over the fence, and stand whetting 

 their blades under the big mulberry, from 



