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 grovind 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 



