So it has
ever been to me, by day or by night, summer or winter, beneath trees the
heart feels nearer to that depth of life the far sky means. The rest of
spirit found only in beauty, ideal and pure, comes there because the
distance seems within touch of thought. To the heaven thought can reach
lifted by the strong arms of the oak, carried up by the ascent of the
flame-shaped fir. Round the spruce top the blue was deepened,
concentrated by the fixed point; the memory of that spot, as it were, of
the sky is still fresh--I can see it distinctly--still beautiful and full
of meaning. It is painted in bright colour in my mind, colour thrice
laid, and indelible; as one passes a shrine and bows the head to the
Madonna, so I recall the picture and stoop in spirit to the aspiration it
yet arouses. For there is no saint like the sky, sunlight shining from
its face.
The fir-tree flowered thus before the primroses--the first of all to give
me a bloom, beyond reach but visible, while even the hawthorn buds
hesitated to open. Primroses were late there, a high district and thin
soil; you could read of them as found elsewhere in January; they rarely
came much before March, and but sparingly then.
Pages:
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49