IRetum to mature 



dimly glimmering under a poet's perfect 

 phrase, under the bubbling of fresh spring- 

 water, under the wood-thrush's shy song? 

 Naturalists, ornithologists, and dictionary- 

 makers are blind, deaf, numb in every 

 sense, when they attempt definition. 

 What could be more stupid, for example, 

 than Liddell and Scott's " mountain-haunt- 

 ing" in explanation of Meleager's phrase, 

 just sung by the thrush? These dry- 

 brained scholars, desiccated in the book- 

 parched air of libraries, do not understand 

 the fine activities of a poet's pen and mirid ; 

 their criticism is a sort of paleontology. 

 Like all " scientists," they are ashamed of 

 word- blossoms and phrase-dew. 



But here is my wood-thrush in the 

 primeval grove, artlessly and absolutely 

 correct, rendering to the untainted air what 

 should go down through the Greek lexi- 

 cons for evermore as the definition of 

 oopeaifpoixa xpiva — " mountain - straying 

 lilies." I know this, for the bird's voice 

 broke in upon my reading and caught up 

 my imagination, bearing it away to the 

 hills, far, far — how very far! And I saw 

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