152 THE RING OF NATURE 



And you, oh Flower-face, were chased by 

 Gwydion with your maidens till, looking back in 

 the fear of flight, you fell unaware into the lake. 

 All were drowned but the guilty Blodeuwedd, and 

 she was turned into unhappy, hooting Blodeu- 

 wedd the owl. 



The eye, with the imagination behind it, plays 

 strange tricks in the dark. It is not merely that 

 we do not see the things that are there, but we 

 see things that are not there. Something reveals 

 a blackberry bush. Perhaps the eye smells it, 

 perhaps it is not really a blackberry bush, but a 

 patch of bracken. At any rate, we see it, and not 

 only the leaves stretching out, but the fruit which 

 will not be there for another two months. In the 

 darkness of the grass a paler streak appears. The 

 eye swears that it is a stream, and not till I have sat 

 down and groped at it with one foot can I be 

 persuaded that it is merely a path. It does not 

 matter that I am in well-known country. Trees 

 become haystacks, bushes are men, desperate 

 footpads waiting to leap on me, a newly-broken 

 log is a prone body with staring white face, a mean 

 barn is a church richly ornamented. Many things 

 are shown by the night that I did not imagine by 

 day to be there. 



The sense that is not deceived by the dark is 

 that of scent. It has apparently a double force 

 by virtue of the resting of the eye. On the other 

 hand, savours may be fresher by night than by day. 

 At the crossing of the stream there is a delicious 



