8 



SUMMER 



poppies in the corn in Poppyland have a vivid salience you 

 will try to parallel in vain. When Linnaeus, in the legend, 

 fell down on his knees to thank God for the golden gorse 

 that covered one of our Welsh hillsides, he was saying grace 

 for a sight that quite outdoes the tropics. The tale may be 

 taken along with the anecdote of Tennyson who, walking 

 with a friend, suddenly went down on his knees and buried 

 his nose among the shyest of our flowers, saying, ' Smell 'em, 

 man. Smell 'em.' We have regions of gold and of scarlet. 

 We have also great regions of purple which clothe the 

 summer downs with as joyous a dress as the floor of the 

 woods in bluebell time. 



The meadows are green, and the hedgerows are green, 

 and the trees are green pillars ; but let those who would 

 picture the English summer not quite forget the plaques of 

 colour that the hedges frame or the wide spaces of colour 

 where no hedgerows are. 



YOUNG GREAT TITS 



