I70 MY DEVON YEAR 



that were precious at noon change their shapes, until 

 their shadows loom larfjer and more real than them- 

 selves ; now do thoughts that were good at midday 

 cast shadows long and deep, even as great spaces in 

 the mind may be umbrated by images of ambition, and 

 wide mental countries overcast by the shade of desire. 



The red light travels over the edge of the world 

 and comes to rest in a shorn hayfield, after its 

 journey through space to earth's summer-clad bosom 

 and peaceful seas. It spreads upon each blade and 

 grass-blossom, each ox-eye daisy and nodding thistle- 

 plume. It falls gently, equably, in one embracing 

 sweep ; it distributes a single and pure tone over all 

 things ; it forgets no leaf nor bud ; adds a glory to 

 the belated insect's wing, a splendour to the little 

 shell-snail that anticipates the dew and creeps, not 

 without toil, upward to win a share of the universal. 



As the sun sank down, as the earth, turning away 

 from the opal purity of the West, rolled easily over 

 on her soft couch in space and disposed her bosom 

 to welcome a summer night, the pearly moon arose 

 and took shape above the gloom of the horizon, above 

 the dim and carmine transparencies of after - glow 

 upon the eastern hills. Hesitating, trembling, half- 

 concealed by many films and diaphanous draperies 

 of the gathering murk that hovered before her face, 

 she floated upwards. Then the earth-born vapours 

 shrank away and vanished, or, greatly glorified, 

 spread soft fabrics along her stairways, and carried 

 her silver on their shining wings to the upper heaven. 



