48 THE OPEN AIR. 



celandine, the may; the yellow iris of the waters, 

 the heath of the hillside. The time of the nightingale 

 the place to hear the first note ; onwards to the 

 drooping fern and the time of the redwing the place 

 of his first note, so welcome to the sportsman as the 

 acorn ripens and the pheasant, come to the age of 

 manhood, feeds himself; onwards to the shadowless 

 days the long shadowless winter, for in winter it 

 is the shadows we miss as much as the light. They 

 lie over the summer sward, design upon design, dark 

 lace on green and gold ; they glorify the sunlight : 

 they repose on the distant hills like gods upon 

 Olympus ; without shadow, what even is the sun ? 

 At the foot of the great cliffs hy the sea you may 

 know this, it is dry glare ; mighty ocean is dearer 

 as the shadows of the clouds sweep over as they 

 sweep over the green corn. Past the shadowless 

 winter, when it is all shade, and therefore no shadow; 

 onwards to the first coltsfoot and on to the seed- 

 time again ; I knew the dates of all of them. I did 

 not want change ; I wanted the same flowers to 

 return on the same day, the titlark to rise soaring 

 from the same oak to fetch down love with a song 

 from heaven to his mate on the nest beneath. No 

 change, no new thing ; if I found a fresh wildflower 

 in a fresh place, still it wove at once into the old 

 garland. In vain, the very next year was different 

 even in the same place that had been a year of 

 rain, and the flag flowers were wonderful to see ; this 

 was a dry year, and the flags not half the height, 

 the gold of the flower not so deep ; next year the 

 fatal billhook came and swept away a slow-grown 



