the journeys of the year. Some people are virulently insistent on tell- 
ing which season they like best. Such people vex me. I hope I may 
be forgiven for my seeming ill-nature, but honestly, what is the need of 
choosing? They are all ours. ‘All are yours.”’ The round of the 
seasons, glad, sunlit, sweaty, shivering, all are mine. I own the sum- 
mer’s sultry noon and winter’s surly storm winds, so why choose? Who 
owns mountain and valley need not vex himself to select between land- 
scapes where he owns the whole. These ‘‘choosy”’ folks are like those 
who persist in asking which fair woman in Shakespeare is loveliest. 
They miss the mark. Each one of Shakespeare’s women is loveliest 
in what she is and for what she is. We do not always need to select. 
Take what comes. What call for anybody to choose one star of the 
firmament? I love them every one. Not one can be spared from the 
wide pasture-lands of heaven. Let each star trim his lamp and burn 
on, and may no single light blow out, that is all we ask. We must not 
select, but embrace (] am speaking not of women, but of stars). Or 
why should we be driven to the wall by «‘Which is your favorite flower?” 
I will not answer that question, although I know, because the asking is 
an impertinence. Woods and meadows, both are mine, and all the 
flowers that haunt springtime woodlands and ravines or flaunt their gold 
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