84 THE OPEN AIR. 



the first time ; not the old green, but a novel hue and 

 spectacle, like the first view of the sea. 



If we had never before looked upon the earth, but 

 suddenly came to it man or woman grown, set down in 

 the midst of a summer mead, would it not seem to us 

 a radiant vision? The hues, the shapes, the song 

 and life of birds, above all the sunlight, the breath of 

 heaven, resting on it ; the mind would be filled with 

 its glory, unable to grasp it, hardly believing that such 

 things could be mere matter and no more. Like a 

 dream of some spirit-land it would appear, scarce fit 

 to be touched lest it should fall to pieces, too beauti- 

 ful to be long watched lest it should fade away. So it 

 seemed to me as a boy, sweet and new like this each 

 morning; and even now, after the years that have 

 passed, and the lines they have worn in the forehead, 

 the summer mead shines as bright and fresh as when 

 rny foot first touched the grass. It has another 

 meaning now ; the sunshine and the flowers speak 

 differently, for a heart that has once known sorrow 

 reads behind the page, and sees sadness in joy. But 

 the freshness is still there, the dew washes the 

 colours before dawn. Unconscious happiness in find- 

 ing wild flowers unconscious and unquestioning, and 

 therefore unbounded. 



I used to stand by the mower and follow the scythe 

 sweeping down thousands of the broad-flowered 

 daisies, the knotted knapweeds, the blue scabious, 

 the yellow rattles, sweeping so close and true that 

 nothing escaped; and yet, although I had seen so 

 many hundreds of each, although I had lifted armfnls 

 day after day, still they were fresh. They never 



