THE INCOMING OF SUMMER 25 

 under the spinney, where the larches have 

 concealed their brittleness with emerald buds. 

 A high twitter comes from one, and almost 

 immediately a bird smaller than a wren 

 flits moth-like to the ground. Its crest is 

 a pencil-mark of fire. At the extreme end 

 of a branch a ball of moss and lichen 

 moulded with spider webs and caterpillar 

 cocoons is suspended. Here the Golden- 

 crowned Knight and his lady love will 

 flitter throughout the days of summer, 

 leading their children from the swinging 

 castle as the voice of the cuckoo falters in 

 June. Flocks of these birds roamed the 

 pine forest during leafless days, when their 

 shrill needle-lances of sound scarce pierced 

 the wind's moaning. Now in coppices 

 and spinneys they seek the unchivalrous 

 spider and the insects that crawl upon the 

 sprays. Here under the trees is shade and 

 solitude. I will stay and dream. But I 

 want more beauty, and am restless; to me 

 floats the voice of the stream for ever 



