58 A GARDEN OF PLEASURE 



running within the black bare trees and 

 loose the young leaves and blossoms bound 

 up within their hard buds. There is no 

 life in the fields, no balm in the air, * no- 

 thing grows,' as the saying is. Everything 

 looks pinched and unhappy, and I think 

 no living thing enjoys the east wind, 

 except perhaps the skylarks. They, dear 

 souls, spring up and glory in the open 

 heaven above them. They rise quivering 

 and carolling up to the very gates ! Doubt- 

 less they in their joy are singing, 'Blow, 

 thou wind of God ! ' How beautiful are 

 the daffodils just now; and how their pure 

 cold yellow seems in harmony with the 

 freezing sunshine ! But they are none the 

 better for it, and never were there so 

 many imperfect, unaccomplished flowers 

 among them. One or two in every clump 

 come out uncomfortably green, or open 

 unkindly, and as if they could not make 

 up their minds to be either good green 

 leaves, or fair yellow flowers ! These un- 

 happy ones are rather amusing, but they 

 are certainly very ugly : * there's easting in 

 it.' The great mass of daffodils, however, 



