XII 



AUTUMN 



On every perfect day, Nature, like a beautiful 

 woman, cajoles her true lovers into the belief 

 that she has never before worn so becoming a An ancient 

 dress. I have a conviction of long standing that 

 the world is fairest when the trees are first laced 

 with green, and little tender things are pushing 

 up everywhere and bursting into miracles of del- 

 icate bloom. Yet, with each heaven-born morn- 

 ing of the succeeding seasons, this somewhat 

 spasmodic faith is weakly surrendered. It is im- 

 possible to wonder at Lowell's 



' ■ What is so rare as a day in June ? " 



when the lanes are first lined with white-flowered 

 shrubs, and the air is heavy with fragrance and 

 alive with bird-voices. Later, without one back- Disputed 

 ward glance, I abandon myself to the ripe, lus- supremac - v 

 cious beauty of midsummer. And though, while 

 taking my first fall walk the other day (for the 

 true fall is not here till well on in September), 

 and while noting how the hills were veiled by a 



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