312 IN BERKSHIRE FIELDS 



hidden by no kindly snow, stripped by no winter 

 frosts — the welter of the world of men ! How strip 

 them all down to their naked stalks? How show 

 them all against some background white as snow, 

 that what is beautiful may be so clearly seen that 

 no man can forget, and what is ugly, that all men 

 shall turn away and choose the plumes and aster 

 stars? 



My etched world has led me far afield, and 

 brought me, groping, back again, unanswered and 

 unsatisfied. Upon their bright iEgean hills, ages 

 long ago, the shepherds watched Orion climb, and 

 gave to him, no doubt, his name. War came and 

 peace came, religions rose and perished, philosophers 

 were crowned — and poisoned, man groped for light 

 within himself and freedom in his universe, poets 

 sang and saints perished. Still I look out and see 

 Orion hunting the game flocks of the stars. Now 

 he has forded the Milky Way. The dog-star is in 

 golden cry beneath his heels. How still and cold 

 and beautiful is the night! How remote those 

 star-glints from our troubled earth! How keener 

 far than man's must be the eye that sees the end 

 and meaning of it all; how greater far the hand 

 that etches on some spirit snow the weed-tops of 

 our human souls and makes them all fair at last ! 



THE END 



