WOODLAND PATHS 



spirituality of delight as this now that it 

 knows that the summer is here. On the 

 plain below the poplars shimmer and 

 quiver translucent green in the ecstasy of 

 young leaves all tremulous with happiness 

 and the tingle of surgent sap. Yet neither 

 tree nor shrub nor any flowering herb 

 seems to so stand on tiptoe for a flight 

 into the blue heaven above, blossom and 

 leaf and branch and trunk, as does this 

 dainty delight of the shady hillside, the 

 flowering dogwood. 



The summer does not explode as does 

 the spring. The spring promises and de- 

 lays, approaches and withdraws, coquettes 

 until we are in despair, then suddenly 

 swoops upon us and smothers in the de- 

 light of her full presence. But the sum- 

 mer comes genially and graciously for- 

 ward, announced by a thousand heralds. 



To-day you could not find on hillside or 



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