46 THE OPEN AIR. 



descending, the meadows filling, with knowledge of 

 long months of succulent clover. On their broad brows 

 the year falls gently; their great, beautiful eyes, 

 which need but a tear or a smile to make them 

 human, — without these, such eyes, so large and full, 

 seem above human life, eyes of the immortals enduring 

 without iDassion, — in these eyes, as a mirror, nature is- 

 reflected. 



I came every day to walk slowly up and do^Mi the 

 plain road, by the starry flowers under the ash-green 

 boughs; ash is the coolest, softest green. The bees 

 went drifting over by my head ; as they cleared the 

 hedges they passed by my ears, the wind singing in 

 their shrill wings. White tent-walls of cloud — a warm 

 white, being full to overflowing of sunshine — stretched 

 across from ash-top to ash-top, a cloud-canvas roof, a 

 tent-palace of the delicious air. For of all things 

 there is none so sweet as sweet air — one great flower 

 it is, drawn round about, over, and enclosing, like 

 Aphrodite's arms ; as if the dome of the sky were a 

 bell-flower drooping down over us, and the magical 

 essence of it filling all the room of the earth. 

 Sweetest of all things is wild-flower air. Full of their 

 ideal the starry flowers strained upwards on the bank, 

 striving to keep above the rude grasses that pushed 

 by them ; genius has ever had such a struggle. The 

 plain road was made beautiful by the many thoughts 

 it gave. I came every morning to stay by the star-lit 

 bank. 



A friend said, *'Why do you go the same road 

 every day ? Why not have a change and walk 

 somewhere else sometimes ? Why keep on up and 



