XI 



THE BOW IN THE CLOUDS 



WHOSE heart does not leap up, be he child 

 or man, when he beholds a rainbow in the 

 sky? It is the most spectacular as it is. the most beau- 

 tiful thing in the familiar daily nature about us. It 

 has all the qualities that are most calculated to 

 surprise and delight us — suddenness, brilliancy, 

 delicacy, sharp contrasts, and the primal cosmic 

 form, the circle. No eye so dull but turns to it with 

 pleasure — a painted triumphal arch, yet as intan- 

 gible as a dream, suddenly springing athwart the 

 dark storm cloud. Born of the familiar and univer- 

 sal elements, the sun and the rain, it is yet as elusive 

 and spectral and surprising as if it were a revelation 

 from some other sphere. It is a kind of incarnation 

 of the spirit of beauty — a veritable wraith that 

 hovers and retreats before you like an angelic visi- 

 tant. It is fixed there against the cloud, irrespective 

 of the falling motion of the drops of rain through 

 which it is formed. They fall, but it does not fall. 

 They are swayed or whirled by the wind, but the 

 bow keeps its place. That band of prismatic colors 

 is in no sense a part of the rain, and the rain knows 

 it not. It springs out in the rear of the retreating 

 212 



