OF RICHARD JEFFERIES 



great flower it is, drawn round about, 

 over, and enclosing, like Aphrodite's 

 arms : as if the dome of the sky were 

 a bell flower drooping down over us, and 

 the magical essence of it filling all the 

 room of the earth. Sweetest of all 

 things is wild-flower air. Full of their 

 ideal the starry flowers strained upwards 

 on the bank, striving to keep above 

 the rude grasses that pushed by them : 

 genius has ever had such a struggle. 

 The plain road was made beautiful by 

 the many thoughts it gave. I came 

 every morning to stay by the starlit 

 bank.—' The Open Air ' : Wild-Flowers. 



A LITTLE feather droops down- 

 wards to the ground — a swal- 

 low's feather fuller of miracle 

 than the Pentateuch — how shall that 

 feather be placed again in the breast 

 where it grew ? Nothing twice. Time 

 changes the places that knew us, and 



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