CHAPTER IX 



MIDSUMMER MOONLIGHT 



All through the afternoon of the fervent July 

 day I could see the sun sifting and winnowing 

 his gold for the sunset. All the morning his al- 

 chemic forces had been quietly transmuting gray 

 mists of midnight, vapors from damp humus, 

 moisture from lush leaves and I know not what 

 other pure though common elements into the 

 precious glow that began to haze the west soon 

 after noon. The old belief that the alchemist at 

 his utmost cunning could recreate rose blooms 

 from their own ashes had sure foundation. I 

 have seen the sun do it every June in countless 

 gardens where, out of this same humus and soft 

 rains, his potency works the transmutation as if 

 in a night. So on July days this father of trans- 

 muters melts in his crucible, of which the earth 

 under our feet seems always the very bottom of 

 the bowl, many ingredients, and distils from them 

 this pure gold. Soon after he passes the merid- 

 ian you may see it sprinkled lavishly from zenith 



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