It is among the
rich and varied low colours of this season, in wood and field, that a
true lover of nature detects some of her rarest touches of loveliness;
the low western sun, falling athwart the bare boughs and striking a
kind of subdued bloom into the brown hill-tops and across the furze and
heather, sometimes reveals a hidden charm in the landscape which one
seeks in vain when skies are softer and the green roof has been
stretched over the woodland ways. In fact, one can hardly lay claim to
any intimacy with Nature until he loves her best when she discards her
royalty, and, like Cinderella, clad only in the cast-off garments of
sunnier days, she crouches before the ashes of the faded year. The
test of friendship is its fidelity when every charm of fortune and
environment has been swept away, and the bare, undraped character alone
remains; if love still holds steadfast, and the joy of companionship
survives in such an hour, the fellowship becomes a beautiful prophecy
of immortality. To all professions of love Nature applies this
infallible test with a kind of divine impartiality. With the first
note of the bluebird, under the brief flush of an April sky, her
alluring invitation goes forth to the world; day by day she deepens the
blue of her summer skies and fills them with those buoyant clouds that
float like dreams across the vision of the waking day; night after
night she touches the stars with a softer radiance, and breathes upon
her roses so that they are eager for the dawn, that they may lay their
hearts open to her gaze; the forests take on more and more the lavish
mood of the summer, until they have buried their great trunks in
perpetual shade.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25