The Road to Dumbiedykes 



by traffic become grass-grown, like rural lanes, 

 and are obliterated. Forests decay, harvests 

 perish, flowers vanish, but grass is immortal. 

 Beleagured by the sullen hosts of winter, it 

 withdraws into the impregnable fortress of its 

 subterranean vitality and emerges upon the 

 solicitation of spring. 



Sown by the winds, by wandering birds, 

 propagated by the subtle horticulture of the 

 elements which are its ministers and servants, 

 it softens the rude outlines of the world. It 

 invades the solitude of deserts, climbs the 

 inaccessible slopes and pinnacles of mountains, 

 and modifies the history, character and destiny 

 of nations. Unobtrusive and patient, it has 

 immortal vigor and aggression. Banished 

 from the thoroughfare and fields, it bides its 

 time to return, and, when vigilance is relaxed 

 or the dynasty has perished, it silently resumes 

 the throne from which it has been expelled but 

 which it never abdicates. 



It bears no blazonry of bloom to charm the 

 senses with fragrance or splendor, but its 

 homely hue is more enchanting than the lily 

 or the rose. It yields no fruit in earth or air, 

 yet should its harvest fail for a single year 

 famine would depopulate the world. 



No, those are not enemy trenches 

 nor modern military fortifications you 



[48] 



