ACCORDING TO SEASON 



among the wheat the bright pink-purple petals 

 Com- and green ruff-like calyx of the corn-cockle. 



COCk 1 8 



The year is at its height. The bosom of the 

 earth is soft and restful as that of a mother. One 

 The year's abides in the perfect present, looking neither be- 

 hind nor before. With the ever-recurring scent 

 of new-mown hay comes another odor, aromatic, 

 permeating. From our feet slopes 



Wild " — a bank where the wild thyme grows." 



Only in this one spot have I ever met with this 

 classic little plant, with its close purple flowers 

 and tiny rigid leaves. When I first discovered it, 

 one superb rain-washed afternoon, the line 



" From dewy pastures, uplands sweet with thyme," 



from Mr. Watson's poem on Wordsworth, flashed 

 into my mind, and for the hundredth time I ap- 

 preciated the rather flippant humor of someone's 

 assertion that the chief use of Nature is to illus- 

 trate quotations from the poets. 



138 



