OUTDOORS 



rails, and a warring hawk " chirrs " men- 

 acingly from over the corn. The chink of 

 grasshoppers sounds at intervals, and mayhap 

 at the dead level of noon a horn's mellow 

 blast comes faintly across the fields. All 

 these rustic interludes come and go and are 

 forgotten. But over the canvas of cloth-of- 

 gold, on the wheat, and the lighter gold of 

 bending oats, all day the shadows chase the 

 sunlight and the sunlight follows the shad- 

 ows, and a myriad wind-wrought landscapes 

 are painted as they pass. 



By the bridge in the woods the river 

 widens out into a reedy pool where a single 

 water-lily rests like a snow-flake on the tawny 

 waters. Here the reeds grow tall and thick, 

 and sighing grasses echo of Pan. Here the 

 dragon-flies dart in and out, and the hills 

 stand guard. And here might Pan himself 

 have plucked a reed from the depths and set 

 lip to the bruised stem to send out a wail of 

 marshy music till the listening earth had 

 cried : 



" Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan! 

 Piercing sweet by the river, 

 Blinding sweet, O great god Pan, " 

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