AND WILD FLOWERS 71 



the meadow, the shadow passed onwards, 

 and again the sun gave its vitalising rays 

 to the grass and the wild flowers. 



The blackbird left the oak tree and 

 dropped down to continue his search among 

 the moist leaf-mould; the wren was silent. 

 Just behind, and dividing the field from 

 the pheasant wood, the brook, its waters 

 swelling with light, brimmed smoothly 

 round a curve. A sweet little whispering 

 call, oft repeated and so gentle that it might 

 have been the voice of the brook, came 

 from the ashpoles beyond. A long-tailed 

 tit was gathering the down from the hazel 

 catkins, calling, or rather murmuring, in 

 shy ecstatic love to her mate as she did so. 

 The sunlight rendered whiter and purer 

 by the wind from the far hills streamed 

 down through the nut trees and the opening 

 buds of ash ; as the leaves rustled they 

 caught the sunbeams, and were turned a 

 lucent green. Mingling with the tender 



notes of my little bottle-bird gathering her 

 L.S. F 



