THOUGHTS FROM WRITINGS 



of thorns hangs over the thrush's nest ; 

 thorns for the mother, hope for the 

 young. Is there a crown of thorns 

 over your heart? A spike has gone 

 deep enough into mine. — 'The Open 

 Air': Wild-Flowers. 



TWO things can go through the 

 solid oak : the lightning of the 

 clouds that rends the iron 

 timber, the lightning of the spring— 

 the electricity of the sunbeams forcing 

 him to stretch forth and lengthen his 

 arms with joy.— 'The Open Air': Wild- 

 Flowers. 



WHITE tent-walls of cloud— 

 a warm white, being full to 

 overflowing of sunshine — 

 stretched across from ash-top to ash- 

 top, a cloud-canvas roof, a tent-palace 

 of the delicious air. For of all things 

 there is none so sweet as sweet air— one 



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