something that shall make them fast. The 

 winds, that have come roaring through the 

 woodlands, subdue their harsh voices and 

 linger long in their journey across this 

 sunny expanse. It is true, they sing no 

 lullabies as in the hollow under the hill 

 where they themselves often fall asleep, 

 but the music to which they move has a 

 magical cadence of joy in it, and sets our 

 thought to the dancing mood of the 

 flowers. 



Sometimes, on quiet afternoons, when the 

 great world of work has somehow seemed 

 to drop its burdens into space, and carries 

 nothing but rest and quietude along its 

 journey under the summer sky, I have seen 

 a pageant in the open fields that has made 

 me doubt whether a dream had not taken 

 me unawares. I have seen the first sweet 

 flowers of spring rise softly out of the grass 

 where they had been hiding and call gently 

 to each other, as if afraid that a single loud 

 word would dissolve the charm of sun and 

 warm breeze for which they had waited 

 so long. After their dreamless sleep of 

 44 



