JOHN-GO-TO-BED-AT-NOON 323 
spring day when cycling over the high down country 
near Dorchester. I caught sight of what looked to 
me like a broad band of snow lying across the green 
hills. Coming to it I found the old Roman road, 
which is there very distinct and has a closer turf and 
a brighter green than the downs it lies across, so 
thickly overgrown with daisies that the crowded 
flowers were actually touching and had obliterated 
the green colour of the ground under them. It was 
a wonderful sight, for all these millions of small 
blossoms occupied the road only, not a daisy being 
seen on the green down on either side, and the 
loveliness was of so rare a quality, so rich yet so 
delicate, a beauty almost supernatural, that I could 
not bear to walk or ride on it. It was like a road 
leading to some unearthly brighter place—some 
paradise of flowers. 
In the other case the site was an earthwork in 
Wiltshire, built probably thousands of years ago, 
and the flower selected to decorate it was the 
yellow bird’s-foot trefoil. 
There are in that part of Wiltshire many such 
remains, grim dykes, with or without walls at the 
side, and walls with a foss on one or in some instances 
on both sides. This one was a very deep ditch at 
the side of a wall ten to fifteen feet high, with a 
flat top eight to ten feet broad. It winds over a 
large down then dips down to a broad level valley, 
and rising over the hill opposite disappears at last in 
the arable land on that side. Standing on the high 
down or on the top of the wall it has the shape and 
