CLIMATE, EVIL BEASTS, SCENERY 127 



appeal has appealed. In her often wild and 

 always mournful beauty, she is as the em- 

 bodiment of all the sorrows of the world. We 

 turn from her in vain ; we look and look again. 



And yet, early some June morning, stand 

 with me at the head of this long, five-deep 

 regiment of giant Russian sunflowers, all 

 with radiant faces lifted eastward. The gold- 

 flecked vista closes in a wealth of green 

 the heavy, rounded masses of the umbrella- 

 tree, the airy feathers of the tree of paradise ; 

 birds, scarlet flames and scimitars of blue, 

 or here and there a yellow flaxbird, leap and 

 dart hither and thither. And beyond and 

 above all is the azure the unutterable, the 

 unpaintable azure of Southern sky and 

 mountain. Have we no soft loveliness, no 

 depth of colour, in the Arid Belt ? 



Or, again, turn now, the hot day waning, 

 from the mountains and the eternal mesquite 

 and sage-brush of the desert, and gaze from 

 the back of the brown clay house athwart 

 the long shadows of the levels. Why is this 

 landscape so sorrowful ? Peace, stepping 

 quietly, should come like an oft-bidden, long- 

 delaying guest across these tranquil meadows. 



