THE MAY FIELDS 83 



in this case, alone bring entire belief and under- 

 standing. " Colour, the soul's bridegroom," is so 

 abounding, so fresh, light, joyful, and ensla\'ing, 

 that, after all has been said and done to picture 

 it, one sits listless, dejected and despairing 

 over one's tame and lifeless efforts ; one feels 

 that it must be left to speak for itself in its own 

 frank, dreamland language — language at once 

 both elusive and comprehensible. The soul of 

 things is possessed of an eloquent and secret code 

 which is every whit its own ; and the soul of 

 these fields is no exception. In spite of Words- 

 worth, there is, and there must be, '* need of a 

 remoter charm " ; there is, and there must be, 

 an " interest unborrowed from the eye " ; and it 

 is just this vague, appealing " something " — this 

 "something" so real as to transcend what is 

 known as reality — which speaks to us and invades 

 us in the bright and intimate presence of these 

 hosts of Alpine flowers. 



In rural parts of England spring is said to 

 have come when a maiden's foot can cover seven 

 daisies at once on the village green. Why, when 

 spring had come here, on these Alpine meadows, 

 I was putting my foot (albeit of goodlier pro- 

 portions than a maiden's) upon at least a score 



