AN OLIVE GROVE 97 



utterly in our grasp, for we have not in 

 any degree expressed the witchery of the 

 light in its ceaseless play throughout the 

 mass of shape and color. I have watched 

 an olive grove both in the moonlight and 

 in the sunlight, and in every instance there 

 was a transformation which was the most 

 subtle work of color-glorification that I 

 have ever seen in nature. Even among 

 the poets it is probable that only one has 

 ever lived who could convincingly express 

 the evasive glory. 



Under simple obligation to a wonderful 

 experience, I should say one thing more. 

 Two days ago I saw an olive grove, cover- 

 ing many acres, shining under a Riviera 

 sun, with all the millions of leaves quiver- 

 ing and turning and lifting and dropping 

 in a very strong wind. In effect it was 

 like nothing so much as the weird passage 

 in Grieg's music where the kings of the 

 mountains are represented at their somber 

 and tumultuous sport. The scene was 

 almost too much to bear. I wanted to lay 



