62 NATURE NEAR LONDON 



oaks in the meadows on that side titlarks mount above 

 the highest bough and then descend, sing, sing, singing, 

 to the grass. 



A jay calls in a circular copse in the midst of the 

 meadow; solitary rooks go over to their nests in the 

 elms on the hill ; cuckoos call, now this way and now 

 that, as they travel round. While leaning on the grey 

 and lichen-hung rails by the brook, the current glides 

 by, and it is the motion of the water and its low murmur 

 which renders the place so idle; the sunbeams brood, 

 the air is still but full of song. Let us, too, stay and 

 watch the petals fall one by one from a wild apple and 

 float down on the stream. 



But now in autumn the haws are red on the thorn, 

 the swallows are few as they were in the earliest spring ; 

 the sedge-birds have flown, and the redwings will soon 

 be here. The sharp points of the sword-flags are turned, 

 their edges rusty, the forget-me-nots are gone. Octo- 

 ber's winds are too searching for us to linger beside the 

 brook, but still it is pleasant to pass by and remember 

 the summer days. For the year is never gone by ; in a 

 moment we can recall the sunshine we enjoyed in May, 

 the roses we gathered in June, the first wheatear we 

 plucked as the green corn filled. Other events go by 

 and are forgotten, and even the details of our own lives, 

 so immensely important to us at the moment, in time 

 fade from the memory till the date we fancied we should 

 never forget has to be sought in a diary. But the year 

 is always with us ; the months are familiar always ; they 

 have never gone by. 



So with the red haws around and the rustling leaves 

 it is easy to recall the flowers. The withey plantation 

 here is full of flowers in summer ; yellow iris flowers in 

 June when midsummer comes, for the iris loves a thunder- 



