Under the Trees and Elsewhere | Page 3

lights playing
upon the tender grass on the lawn, and caressing those delicate hues
through which each individual tree and shrub searches for its summer
foliage; the mornings have slipped so quietly in through the eastern
gates, and the afternoons have vanished so softly across the western
hills, that one could not but suspect a plot to avert attention and lull
watchful eyes into negligence while all things were made ready for the
moment of revelation. At times a subdued light has filled the broad
arch of heaven, and, later, a fringe of rain has moved gently across the
low hills and fallow fields, rippling like a wave from that upper sea
which hangs invisible in golden weather, but becomes portentous and
vast as the nether seas when the clouds gather and the celestial
watercourses are unlocked. One day I thought I saw signs of a falling
out between the conspirators, and I set myself to watch for some
disclosure which might escape from one side or the other in the
frankness of anger. The earth was sullen and overcast, the sky dark and
forbidding, the clouds rolled together and grew black, and the shadows
deepened upon the grass. At last there was a vivid flash of lightning, a

crash of thunder, and the sudden roar of rain. "Now," I said to myself,
"I shall learn what all this secrecy has been about." But I was doomed
to disappointment; after a few minutes of angry expostulation the sky
suddenly uncovered itself, the clouds piled themselves against the
horizon and disclosed their silver linings, and over the whole earth
there spread a broad smile, as if the hypocritical performance had been
part of the original deception. I am confident now that it was, for that
brief drenching of trees and sward was almost the last noticeable
preparation before the curtain rose. The next day there was a deep,
unbroken quiet across our piece of world, as if a fragment of eternity
had been quietly slipped into the place of one of our brief, noisy days.
The trees stood motionless, as if awaiting some signal, and I listened in
vain for that inarticulate and half-heard murmur of coming life which,
day and night, had filled my thoughts these past weeks, and set the
march of the hours to a sublime rhythm.
The next morning a faint perfume stole into my room. I rose hastily,
ran to the window, and lo! the secret was out: the apple trees were in
bloom! Three days later, and the miracle so long in preparation was
accomplished; the slowly rising tide of life had broken into a foam of
blossoms and buried the world in a billowy sea. There will come days
of greater splendour than this, days of deeper foliage, of waving grain
and ripening fruit, but no later day will eclipse this vision of paradise
which lies outspread from my window; life touches to-day the zenith of
its earliest and freshest bloom; to-morrow the blossoms will begin to
sift down from the snowy branches, and the great movement of summer
will advance again; but for one brief day the year pauses and waits,
reluctant to break the spell of this perfect hour, to mar by the stir of a
single leaf the stainless loveliness of this revelation of nature's
unwasted youth.
I do not care to look through these great masses of bloom; it is enough
simply to live in an hour which brings such an overflow of beauty from
the ancient fountains; but Nature herself lures one to deeper thoughts,
and, through the vision which spreads like a mirage over the landscape,
hints at some hidden loveliness at the root of this riotous blossoming,
some diviner vision for the eye of the spirit alone. "Look," she seems to

say, as I stand and gaze with unappeased hunger of soul, "this is my
holiday. In the coming weeks I have a whole race to feed, and over the
length of the world men are imploring my help. They do their little
share of work, and while they wait, waking and sleeping, anxiously
watching winds and clouds, I vitalise their toil and turn all my forces to
their bidding. The labour of the year is at hand and on its threshold I
take this holiday. To-day I give you a glimpse of paradise; a garden in
which all manner of loveliness blooms simply from the overflow of life,
without thought, or care, or toil. This was my life before men came
with their cries of hunger and nakedness; this shall be my life again
when they have passed beyond. This which lies before you like a dream
is a glimpse of life as it is in me, and shall be in you; immortal,
inexhaustible fulness of power and