2 THE BEAUTY OP WINTER 



Even when summer skies betrayed the laureate and sent 

 him dripping home, he harboured no reproach, only 

 praise for 



' The full-fed river winding slow 

 And herds upon an endless plain, 

 The ragged rims of thunder brooding low, 

 With shadow-streaks of rain.' 



It is true that, addressing his friend Palgrave in the 

 tropics, he described himself as 



' Tolerant of the colder time : 



Who love the winter woods, to trace 

 On paler heavens the branching grace 



Of leafless elm or naked lime, 



And see my cedar green, and there 

 My giant ilex keeping leaf, 

 When frost is keen and days are brief.' 



But this is conventional winter weather the clear skies 

 and tingling frost, the ruddy sunsets and heaped snow of 

 Christmas cards ; not the sober stillness sombre, some 

 would call it broken with rare gleams through rents in 

 the low cloud canopy, which westland dwellers know so 

 well. 



Like the poets, the painters look askance upon an open 

 winter. Misty summer morns of Corot, lush hayfields of 

 Copley Fielding, autumnal glories of Linnell and scores of 

 others as deft as he ; but for winter we must spread our 

 palettes with flake white and plenty of it, rejoicing in our 

 skill to depict the sparkling crests, the limpid shadows, 

 the bewitching curves of snow-wreaths. Yet I maintain 

 that the fleeting charm of a mild winter day moves one 

 to gratitude as deeply as does the superior splendour of 

 the brighter months. Does the sun shine ? Then is its 

 light of far more artistic value than at other seasons, for 



