Country life -- England -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
A little brook slipped away without a sound past the tall green rushes
and the water-plantains and the grey chequered grass that lifts its
spear-like points in moist places; a swift shallow streamlet winding
through the meadow, its clear surface almost flush with the sward. Now
running water draws a dreamer; so he followed it across the mead, past
the footpath and the stepping-stone that had sunk into the stream: past
the dark-green bunches of the marsh marigolds, whose broad golden petals
open under the harsh winds of early spring, and not far from the
peewit's nest; for she rose and flew round him, calling plaintively, her
pure white breast almost within reach, till finding that her treasure
was unheeded, she slowly dropped behind: past the dog-violets, blue but
not sweet, that looked up more boldly than their forerunners, whose
modest heads had scarce appeared above the dead leaves on the bank.
Yonder the roan cattle were feeding; and in the midst stood an ancient,
gnarled, and many-twisted hawthorn, whose bark had become as iron under
the fierce heats and fiercer storms of years; yet its branches were
green, and crowned with the may--white virgin may-bloom scenting the
air--and under its shadow a young heifer meditated. Past hollow
willows, till presently the turf beneath grew soft and yielding as
velvet, his foot sinking into the pile of the moss, and the shade of
trees fell on him, where the bank of the brook became steep, and low
down in its bed it rushed into the wood.
After awhile oak and elm gave place to black and gloomy firs that hung
over and darkened the water. Large flecks of grey lichen clung to them,
and from above a red squirrel peered down. Here the thick branches
forced his steps aside from the stream, and out among the ashpoles where
the wood-pigeons built their nests, and: in the strength of their love
looked down upon him fearlessly from their feeble platforms of twigs.
Under an ash-stole he saw a rare plant growing, and stooped and went on
his knees to reach it, and so pushed aside the thick boughs, and, as it
were, looked through a screen, and his heart gave a great bound.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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