BERRY-TIME FELICITIES 165 



been equal to my opportunity), I stood still 

 to enjoy the music of a hermit thrush, which 

 happened to be at just the right distance. 

 A holy voice it was, singing a psalm, mea- 

 sure responding to measure out of the same 

 golden throat. I tried to fit words to it. 

 " Oh," it began, but for the remainder of 

 the strophe there were no syllables in our 

 heavy, consonant-weighted English tongue. 

 It might be Spanish, I thought musical 

 vowels with Z's and cf s holding them together. 

 I remembered the reputed saying of Charles 

 V., that Spanish is the language of the gods, 

 and was ready to add, " and of hermit 

 thrushes." But perhaps this was only a 

 fancy. One thing was certain : the bird sang 

 in Spanish or in something better. If a man 

 could eat raspberries as long as he can listen 

 to sweet sounds ! 



Before the last house there was a brilliant 

 show of poppies, and beyond, at the limit of 

 the clearing, an enormous bean-field. Pop- 

 pies and beans ! Poetry and prose ! Some- 

 thing to look at and something to eat. Such 

 is the texture of human life. For my part, 

 I call it a felicitous combination. Here, only 



