Old walled
gardens, gay with flowers, shall stretch right and left. Clipt yew
alleys shall wander away into mysterious glooms: and out of their
black arches shall come tripping children, like white fairies, to
laugh and talk with the girl who lies dreaming and reading in the
hammock there, beneath the black velvet canopy of the great cedar-
tree, like some fair Tropic flower hanging from its boughs. Then
they shall wander down across the smooth-shorn lawn, where the purple
rhododendrons hang double, bush and image, over the water's edge, and
call to us across the stream, 'What sport?' and the old Squire shall
beckon the keeper over the long stone bridge, and return with him
bringing luncheon and good ale; and we will sit down, and eat and
drink among the burdock leaves, and then watch the quiet house, and
lawn, and flowers, and fair human creatures, and shining water, all
sleeping breathless in the glorious light beneath the glorious blue,
till we doze off, lulled by the murmur of a thousand insects, and the
rich minstrelsy of nightingale and black-cap, thrush and dove.
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