84 A GARDEN OF PLEASURE 



flits from tree to tree in * azurn sheen/ as 

 blue as any kingfisher. It is the way the 

 sun strikes at this sweet hour. At sunset 

 I have seen the great elms all glorious 

 within, the straightness of their massive 

 stems burning with a lurid glow from root 

 to treetop behind the leaves ; and last 

 evening when, after the rain, the sunset 

 shone upon a cypress, a million rain -drops 

 twinkling all over it became lustrous 

 diamonds of the purest water, darting long 

 rays of rainbow hues. 



No springtime could ever be more per- 

 fect in its outward beautifulness than this 

 May is, though indeed the rain and cold 

 do somewhat spoil our full enjoyment. It 

 must have been in a spring like this that 

 Jean Paul wrote of ' winter painted green. r 

 Yet there were days when the perfume of 

 apple blossoms was borne through all the 

 garden as balmily as if the breezes had not 

 been ice. Never were apple trees more 

 snowily, rosily radiant. It was as beautiful 

 as a dream to pass along underneath their 

 flower laden branches ; and so abundant 

 was the bloom that when it fell the petals 



