MINSTREL WEATHER 



pass and repass in jubilance over the grass 

 blades. The sun is enchanted in the clear 

 yellow of the flowers. Glints, movement, 

 gayety, and withal peace and silence were 

 in that place of exultant color and radiant 

 life. It was a rare spot, and unvisited 

 save by birds in quest of screening branches 

 for their nests and perhaps by some one 

 who hid there and always had to laugh 

 before he left. 



A round space of soft sward is guarded 

 by strawberry shrub and by the bridal- 

 wreath spiraea that droops white branches 

 lowly to the ground. Here you could lie 

 on a moonlit summer night, with arms 

 outstretched and face pressed into the soft 

 grass, and beneath your fingers you could 

 feel the world turn on and on, immensely, 

 soothingly, and everlastingly, the only 

 sound the bats' wings above, or a baby 

 robin protesting musically at the slowness 

 of the night's divine pace. Here the smell 

 of the sod is keen and sweet. Here dew 

 would cool a throbbing brow. Here the 

 undertones of earth vibrate through the 

 body, and all its nerves, strung to intense 

 perception, yet would be wrapped in per- 

 suasive peace. 



[80] 



