46 THE OPEN AIR. 



descending, the meadows filling, with knowledge of 

 long months of succulent clover. On their broad brows 

 the year falls gently; their great, beautiful eyes, 

 which need but a tear or a smile to make them 

 human,' without these, such eyes, so large and full, 

 seem above human life, eyes of the immortals enduring 

 without passion, in these eyes, as a mirror, nature is. 

 reflected. 



I came every day to walk slowly up and down the 

 plain road, by the starry flowers under the ash-green 

 boughs; ash is the coolest, softest green. The bees 

 went drifting over by my head ; as they cleared the 

 hedges they passed by my ears, the wind singing in 

 their shrill wings. 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 great flower 

 it is, drawn round about, over, and enclosing, like 

 Aphrodite's arms ; as if the dome of the sky were a 

 bell-flower drooping down over us, and the magical 

 essence of it filling all the room of the earth. 

 Sweetest of all things is wild-flower air. Full of their 

 ideal the starry flowers strained upwards on the bank, 

 striving to keep above the rude grasses that pushed 

 by them ; genius has ever had such a struggle. The 

 plain road was made beautiful by the many thoughts 

 it gave. I came every morning to stay by the star-lit 

 bank. 



A friend said, " Why do you go the same road 

 every day? Why not have a change and walk 

 somewhere else sometimes ? Why keep on up and 



