... In the
blackbird's melody one note is mine; in the dance of the leaf shadows the
formed maze is for me, though the motion is theirs; the flowers with a
thousand faces have collected the kisses of the morning. Feeling with
them, I receive some, at least, of their fulness of life. Never could I
have enough; never stay long enough.... The hours when the mind is
absorbed by beauty are the only hours when we really live, so that the
longer we can stay among these things so much the more is snatched from
inevitable Time.... These are the only hours that are not wasted-these
hours that absorb the soul and fill it with beauty. This is real life, and
all else is illusion, or mere endurance. To be beautiful and to be calm,
without mental fear, is the ideal of Nature. If I cannot achieve it, at
least I can think it."
This chapter is already so long that I cannot touch on the contrast and
variety of the seasons, each with its own special charm and interest, as
"The daughters of the year
Dance into light and die into the shade.
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