veiling the day while the heavens wait in 

 silent worship, all poetry is idle and empty. 

 It is the divinest of all the visible processes 

 of Nature, and the sublimest of all her 

 marvellous symbolism. 



On such a morning as this, twelve years 

 ago, Amiel wrote in his diary : " The whole 

 atmosphere has a luminous serenity, a lim- 

 pid clearness. The islands are like swans 

 swimming in a golden stream. Peace, 

 splendour, boundless space ! . . . I long to 

 catch the wild bird, happiness, and tame it. 

 These mornings impress me indescribably. 

 They intoxicate me, they carry me away. 

 I feel beguiled out of myself, dissolved in 

 sunbeams, breezes, perfumes, and sudden 

 impulses of joy. And yet all the time I 

 pine for I know not what intangible Eden." 

 In these few words this master of poetic 

 meditation suggests without expressing the 

 indescribable impression which a summer 

 carries into every sensitive nature. 



Last night the world was sorrowful, 

 worn, and dulled ; but lo ! the new day has 

 but touched it and all the invisible choirs 

 133 



