THE CHANGEFUL SKIES 



I cannot read ; 



'Twixt every page my thoughts go stray at large, 

 Down in the meadow. 



THOREAU. 



DOWN in the meadow! a poem of 

 four words that will never need ex- 

 planatory notes. I am down in the sense 

 of being nearer the level of the sea, when 

 there, but up, high up, in exhilaration. 

 Lord Bacon says that this emotion is not as 

 profound as joy ; but what use in such fine 

 distinctions ? I joy in the exhilaration that 

 comes from breathing the meadow air, and 

 let us attend to it, rather than to the mean- 

 ings of words, that keep our cheap champions 

 of erudition so busy. I went down to the 

 meadows to-day, that 1 might more readily 

 look upward, having thought before starting 

 how little apt are we to consider the sky 

 when taking an outing, and yet Shakespeare's 



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