Then the Hyacinth was comforted, and said she would be content; and the
Child went on to the powdered Auricula, who, in her bashfulness, looked
kindly up to him, and would gladly have given him more than kind looks,
had she had more to give. But the Child was satisfied with her modest
greeting; he felt that he was poor too, and he saw the deep, thoughtful
colours that lay beneath her golden dust. But the humble flower, of her
own accord, sent him to her neighbour, the Lily, whom she willingly
acknowledged as her queen. And when the Child came to the Lily, the
slender flower waved to and fro and bowed her pale head with gentle pride
and stately modesty, and sent forth a fragrant greeting to him. The
Child knew not what had come to him: it reached his inmost heart, so that
his eyes filled with soft tears. Then he marked how the lily gazed with
a clear and steadfast eye upon the sun, and how the sun looked down again
into her pure chalice, and how, amid this interchange of looks, the three
golden threads united in the centre. And the Child heard how one scarlet
Lady-bird at the bottom of the cup said to another, “Knowest thou not
that we dwell in the flower of heaven?” and the other replied, “Yes; and
now will the mystery be fulfilled.” And as the Child saw and heard all
this, the dim image of his unknown parents, as it were veiled in a holy
light, floated before his eyes: he strove to grasp it, but the light was
gone, and the Child slipped, and would have fallen, had not the branch of
a currant bush caught and held him; and he took some of the bright
berries for his morning’s meal, and went back to his hut and stripped the
little branches.
CHAPTER V.
BUT in the hut he stayed not long, all was so gloomy, close, and silent
within, and abroad everything seemed to smile, and to exult in the clear
and unbounded space. Therefore the Child went out into the green wood,
of which the Dragon-fly had told him such pleasant stories. But he found
everything far more beautiful and lovely even than she had described it;
for all about, wherever he went, the tender moss pressed his little feet,
and the delicate grass embraced his knees, and the flowers kissed his
hands, and even the branches stroked his cheeks with a kind and
refreshing touch, and the high trees threw their fragrant shade around
him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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