50 MY DEVON YEAR 



and broken archways many grasses grow high and 

 rank; wild geraniums and pennywort, ferns and tough- 

 rooted shrubs, also spring strongly; and Nature's sure 

 hand wears the adamant away with her tender, 

 twining, invincible rootlets. 



The Castle will presently vanish, but these eternal 

 green things die not. The granite, indeed, must 

 go ; the pearls of the wood sorrel, nodding dewy on 

 their stalks above the verdant beauty of the trefoil 

 leaves — the tiny, tremulous, purple-veined chalices of 

 this most fragile thing, that Rodolphus trampled 

 yesterday and I pluck to-day — these loved treasures 

 of the Mother of Flowers endure from generation to 

 generation, and are immortal. To them the life of 

 Berry Pomeroy is the life of a cloud palace in a summer 

 storm. They come and depart with each glittering 

 April ; and they did so before man learnt to take his 

 hands from earth and stand upright. Ere this grey 

 mushroom castle sprang into being at the will of a 

 soldier beneath the trowels of a conquered race, they 

 twinkled and trembled and shook the warm rain out 

 of their little eyes ; and when Berry has vanished 

 and the jackdaws have sought another home, when 

 the old plateau of the wood has forgotten that pro- 

 digious load set on it by the stranger, and creeping 

 ivy hides a mound of dust, then shall the emerald 

 trinities of dainty foliage still spread and open and 

 the blossoms still shine like snowflakes through the 

 woods to star each dingle and mossy haunt of shy 

 things. 



