42 THE OPEN AIR, 



slide from leaf to leaf in June, the balmy shower that 

 reperfumes each wild flower and green thing, drops 

 lit with the sun, and falling to the chorus of the 

 refreshed birds; is not this beautiful to see? On 

 the grasses tall and heavy the purplish blue pollen, 

 a shimmering dust, sown broadcast over the ripening 

 meadow from July's warm hand — the bluish pollen, 

 the lilac pollen of the grasses, a delicate mist of blue 

 floating on the surface, has always been an especial 

 delight to me. Finches shake it from the stalks 

 as they rise. No day, no hour of summer, no step 

 but brings new mazes — there is no word to express 

 design without plan, and these designs of flower and 

 leaf and colours of the sun cannot be reduced to set 

 order. The eye is for ever drawn onward and finds 

 no end. To see these always so sharply, wet and 

 fresh, is almost too much sometimes for the wearied 

 yet insatiate eye. I am obliged to tm-n away — to 

 shut my eyes and say I will not see, I will not 

 observe; I will concentrate my mind on my own 

 little path of life, and steadily gaze downwards. 

 In vain. Who can do so? who can care alone for 

 his or her petty trifles of existence, that has once 

 entered amongst the wild flowers ? How shall I shut 

 out the sun ? Shall I deny the constellations of the 

 night? They are there; the Mystery is for ever 

 about us — the question, the hope, the aspiration 

 cannot be put out. So that it is almost a pain 

 not to be able to cease observing and tracing the 

 untraceable maze of beauty. 



Blue veronica was the next identified, sometimes 

 called germander speedwell, sometimes bird's-eye, 



