UNDER THE MAPLES 



to silver. After some minutes the sky, just at the 

 point where the sun is to appear, begins to glow 

 again, as if the silver were getting warm; a minute 

 or two more and the brow of the great god is above 

 the horizon line. His mere brow, as I try to fix 

 my eye upon it, fairly smites me blind. The brow 

 is magnified by the eye into the whole face. One 

 realizes in these few seconds how rapidly the old 

 earth turns on its axis. You witness the miracle 

 of the transition of the dawn into day. The day 

 is born in a twinkling. Is it Browning who uses the 

 word "boil" to describe this moment? "Day boils 

 at last." Gilder, I think, speaks of it as a scimitar 

 flashing on the brim of the world. At any rate, 

 I watch for it each morning as if I were seeing it 

 for the first time. It is the critical moment of the 

 day. You actually see the earth turning. Later 

 in the day one does not note in the same way the 

 sun climbing the heavens. The setting sun does 

 not impress one, because it is usually enveloped in 

 vapors. His day's work is done and he goes to his 

 rest veiled and subdued. He is new in the morning 

 and old at his going down. His gilding of the clouds 

 at sunset is a token of a fair day on the morrow; 

 his touching them with fire in the morning is a 

 token of wind or storm. So much we make of 

 these things, yet the sun knows them not. They 

 are local and only earth phenomena, yet the bene- 

 faction of the sun is as if it shone for us alone. It 



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