and trees dyed with blood, all know that the proprietor of this manor is 

 come. 



I climb the hill. I see the cattle browsing on the meadow. I hear 

 the musings of winds in the trees, and look at Quaylecroft, and flush with 

 pride, and stand at the gash in the woods at the hilltop and see the blue, 

 far, partly surly dimness of distance that clothes valley and hill and corn- 

 field and wandering of stream in beauty of dimness; and see how the 

 hills are great bonfires, and seared grasses and burning sumacs make 

 one hillside a regal purple. And I go down the hill and walk along my 

 wood road (you ought to see it) paved with leaves multicolored and 

 odorous, where shade and sunlight meet like old cronies; there I sit 

 and dream, sometimes of yesterday, sometimes of to-morrow, some- 

 times of that far, glad to-morrow where burdens never tire us nor any 

 tears wear ruts on the face nor dim the eyes from seeing, but where 

 beloved meet the BELOVED, and holy laughter fills the heart forever. 



' 'Lightly he blows, and at his breath they fall, 



The perishing kindreds of the leaves; 'they drift, 

 Spent flames of scarlet, gold aerial, 



Across the hollow year, noiseless and swift. 

 Lightly he blows, and countless as the falling 



Of snow by night upon a solemn sea, 

 The ages circle down beyond recalling. 



To strew the hollows of eternity. 

 He sees them drifting through the spaces dim, 

 And leaves and ages are as one to him.'" 



CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS. 



