FIELD FLOWERS 



herself; the creeping Dock-leaved Knotgrass: all the dowdy 

 families, wearing with a resigned smile the grey and practical 

 livery of Autumn, which already is felt to be at hand. 



But, among those of March, April, May, June, July, re- 

 member the glad and festive names, the springtime syllables, 

 the vocables of azure and dawn, of moonlight and of sun- 

 shine! Here is the Snowdrop, or Winter-bell, who heralds 

 the thaw; the Stitchwort, or Satin-flower, who greets the first- 

 communicants along the hedgerows with their leaves as yet 

 indeterminate and uncertain, like a diaphanous green mist. 

 Here are the Wild Sage and the drooping Columbine; the 

 Elecampane, the Sheep's-bit, the Angelica, the Fennel-flower; 

 the Gilly-flower, dressed like the servant of a village-priest; 

 the Osmond, who is a king fern; the Wood-rush, the Wall 

 Parmelia, the Venus' Looking-glass; the Esula or Wood 

 Surge, mysterious and full of smouldering fire; the Winter 

 Cherry, whose fruit ripens in a red lantern ; the Henbane, the 

 Deadly Nightshade, the Foxglove: poisonous queens, veiled 

 Cleopatras of the untilled places and the cool woods. And 

 then, again, the Chamomile, the good capped Sister with a 



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