DRAGON'S BLOOD 241 



lived. Of all those that I met, this particular beech 

 with the centuries behind it and the centuries yet 

 to come, was my special choice, for the beech is the 

 slowest growing of all our trees. This one towered 

 high overhead, while its roots plunged down deep 

 into the living waters and its vast girth seemed as if 

 nothing could shake it. 



That evening, as I lay against it and bargained for 

 a share of its years, I thought that I felt the vast 

 trunk move as if its life reached out to mine. Life 

 is given to the tree and to the mammal. Why may 

 they not meet on some common plane? Some one, 

 some day, will learn the secret of that meeting-place. 



So I dreamed, when suddenly in the twilight 

 beyond my thicket a song began. It started with a 

 series of cool, clear, round notes, like those of the 

 wood thrush but with a wilder timbre. In the world 

 where that singer dwells, there is no fret and fever 

 of life and strife of tongues. On and on the song 

 flowed, cool and clear. Then the strain changed. 

 Up and up with glorious sweeps the golden voice 

 soared. It was as if the wood itself were speaking. 

 There was in it youth and hope and spring and 

 glories of dawns and sunsets and moonlight and the 

 sound of the wind from far away. Again the world 

 was young and unfallen, nor had the gates of Heaven 

 closed. All the long-lost dreams of youth came true 

 while the hermit thrush sang. 



