172 DAYS OF AUTUMN 



blows on the cheek as for a moment bright- 

 ness streams down, and so happiness comes 

 again. Once more the thoughts of desola- 

 tion are dispelled like the mist, and hope 

 rises anew to the heart. In the murmuring 

 green of spring, the radiant birdsong of 

 summer, it is indeed difficult to be sad. 

 Though all human efforts seem without 

 avail, the song and scent and colour 

 of summer fills the yearning heart and 

 assuages its broken hopes. But in autumn 

 and winter, at least for a long time, no 

 consolation was there anywhere. Under- 

 foot the old paths were beaten into mire 

 by the passing of feet; these were the leaves, 

 each so perfect and veined and shaped, 

 that had opened from buds to the croon of 

 wild doves and the tap-tap of woodpeckers. 

 Nature seemed to care nothing for the 

 things that were created : the hand that 

 composed so lovingly decomposed as in- 

 evitably. 



To youth the world seemed bitterly cruel 



