138 THE CLERK OF THE WOODS 



path under the window is a line of white 

 running through the green grass. Beyond 

 that is the brown hillside, brightened with a 

 few pitch-pines ; and then a veil shuts down 

 upon the world, with a spray of bare tree- 

 tops breaking through. It is the gray month 

 in its grayest mood. 



Be it so. I will sit at my window and 

 enjoy the world as it is. This sombre day 

 has a beauty and charm of its own the 

 charm of melancholy. The wise course is 

 to tune our thought to nature's mood of so- 

 berness, rather than to force a different note, 

 profaning the hour, and cheating ourselves 

 with shallow talk and laughter. There is a 

 time for everything under the sun L' Alle- 

 gro and II Penseroso, each in its turn. 



Now is a time to think of what has been 

 and of what will be. Only the other day the 

 year was young ; grass was greening, violets 

 were budding, birds were mating and singing. 

 Now the birds are gone, the flowers are dead, 

 the year is ending as all the years have ended 

 before it. 



And as the year is, so are we. A few 

 days ago we were children, just venturing to 



