Nature is full for us
of seeming inconsistencies and glad surprises. The world's asleep,
say you; on your ear falls the nightingale's song and the stir of
living creatures in bush and brake. The mantle of night falls, and
all unattended the wind leaps up and scatters the clouds which veil
the constant stars; or in the hour of the great dark, dawn parts
the curtain with the long foregleam of the coming day. It is hard
to turn one's back on night with her kiss of peace for tired eye-
lids, the kiss which is not sleep but its neglected forerunner. I
made my way at last down to the vine-girt bridge asleep under the
stars and up the winding stairs of the old grey tower; and a
stone's-throw away the Rhine slipped quietly past in the midsummer
moonlight. Switzerland came in its turn, unearthly in its white
loveliness and glory of lake and sky. But perhaps the landmark
which stands out most clearly is the solitary blue gentian which I
found in the short slippery grass of the Rigi, gazing up at the sky
whose blue could not hope to excel it. It was my first; and what
need of another, for finding one I had gazed into the mystery of
all. This side the Pass, snow and the blue of heaven; later I
entered Italy through fields of many-hued lilies, her past glories
blazoned in the flowers of the field.
Now it is a strangely uneventful road that leads to my White Gate.
Each day questions me as it passes; each day makes answer for me
"not yet.
Pages:
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96