124 THE FRIENDSHIP OF NATURE 



tomless. The leaves of the water-lily 

 lie heavily; the iris blades, steeled with 

 dew, rise like the spears of engulfed 

 knights. The frogs keep up a fitful 

 groaning; the sharp-slanting moon- 

 streaks shoot across the dell like 

 search-lights, unravelling a mystery. 

 Moisture drips from the fern fronds, 

 and where old tree stumps have lain a 

 long time on the ground, a night vil- 

 lage has sprung up. The gypsy race 

 of plant-land has reared its fungus 

 encampment, with wide white tents 

 and peaked brown pagodas, where the 

 flat glow-worm is the general manager. 

 Motes and great moths float on the 

 path made by the moon's rays, — 



"Or, weird and wee, sits Puck himself, 

 With legs akimbo, on a fern? " 



Have you ever watched the flower 

 world asleep ? In the fields the clover 



