APPLE ORCHARD IN FULL BLOOM 105 
its hint of mild inebriation which ends in poetical 
hilarity which makes for the laughter of the 
angels. 
I wanted to stay in those miles of apple blooms 
till the sun had set and the stars had risen and 
the moon had filled the sky with its wonder- 
light for which there are no words. And to have 
lit an apple-tree fire and to have sat beside it 
would have been to set a linnet’s song to a lark’s 
music. With the smoke and the efflorescent 
sparkles and the lovely and the exalted night 
and the apple-bloom breath, there would have 
been a joy like being sung to by angels. 
And this one hundred eighty-six acres of apple 
trees in bloom must be experienced to be appre- 
hended. I do not say comprehended, for that is 
a witless word in such a scene. Throughout its 
length and breadth and height (for this orchard 
of bloom was cubic measure and so no super- 
ficial area could compass the phrasing of it) 
was perfect peace of a perfect day. Perfect 
peace! Height was its most splendid dimension. 
The height led up to God. 
This was no hemisphere we dwelt in, but a 
whole sphere. We could not see out. It was a 
world far-going, glad-going, so white the petals 
were, scarce touched by any pink at all. That 
was a peculiarity of the apple blossoms we beheld 
in this orchard to-day. ”*I'was a white wonder- 
land. It was starlight rather than dawnlight. 
We were shut in by apple bloom. If this apple- 
