THE ONE SUNRISE 135 



like all the others, by the buds at the end of every 

 twig. Then here is a stronger picture in evergreen : 

 two or three Scotch pines, one with thick ivy on its 

 stem. The smooth sky is behind them, shimmering 

 from palest blue to greyest pink, getting through 

 occasional glimpses in the foliage and making it all a 

 fathomless black, in which we imagine we can see 

 a tinge of green because our daylight experience 

 has told us that it is green. 



Up to now the sepia pictures of the elms on " the 

 Bowl of Night " have been strictly silhouettes. We 

 have been moving in a two-dimensional world. Sud- 

 denly an ash comes overhead at the turn of the road. 

 The young light gleams round its limbs from back to 

 front, and makes a revelation as astonishing as though 

 the fourth dimension, which no philosopher really 

 believes in, had been brought to common notice. The 

 tawny flush behind the black hill has a rosier centre, 

 so that we can tell, as it were, within a yard where the 

 sun will break out. Now the cocks crow up a new 

 day, and the melancholy owls proclaim a dying night. 

 Then would the cuckoo join in, but the day of his 

 arrival is not yet. As we climb the hill to a quaint 

 old steepled town, the bells send down the chimes of 

 five o'clock. Their thin, wiry music could not have 

 been better contrived for this Easter morning fight 

 between Sut and Horus. Every one knows, of course, 

 that victory is a foregone conclusion. " Old Khayyam " 

 is all in the air, so let us have a verse of him : 



" Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before 

 I swore but was I sober when I swore? 

 And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand 

 My thread-bare Penitence a-pieces tore." 



