seashell, so delicate you feared to look straight at it lest the blush die 

 away to be seen no more. I wished I were painter so as to paint them 

 all; but could I? And the buds, ready for flowering, were fairer than 

 the flower, and had moss upon them, so that I thought I had found a 

 colony of God's moss roses growing wild. When spring comes round 

 and the dwarf roses bloom, go you, good friend, and watch for them as 

 for the coming of a longed-for comrade ; and bring some of the love- 

 liest away with you and and press them in a book, and write in the book 

 where you found them, their color, when you gathered them, and their 



sweet capricious ways, 

 and confess you love 

 them, whereat, mayhap, 

 they may learn to love 

 you in retur n w h o 

 knows? For a mile 

 and more along the 

 banks the wild parsnip 

 was swaying to the touch 

 of every wind whorls of 

 gold was what they were 

 and looking across a 

 mile of them was look- 

 ing at a pathway of 

 wrought gold, and who 

 was I, to walk on gold- 

 | paved streets before my 

 time, or to stand, as 

 sometimes I did, when 

 the flowers stood tall, in golden corridors? Once, just once, a rivulet 

 crossed the path. I saw it glint among the grasses and come slyly 

 closer, like some living thing filled with curiosity, and then it ran under 

 our bridge as one affrightened, but the water was clear and intent on 

 its journey. If I spoke to it in passing, it either heard not, or, if hear- 

 ing, made no reply, nor even gave a backward look. Perhaps its ret- 

 icence was to hide ignorance, for perchance it knew not whither it was 

 going, only knowing it was time to haste like a truant child overtaken 

 by the dark; and I cried, "You are going to the sea," but no word did 

 it reply, only there was audible laughter such as I loved to listen to ; 

 and I seemed to be bent on talking to the rivulet, for I said, "You are 



134 



THE BRIDGE 



