Under the Trees and ElsewhereMabie, Hamilton Wright
History
Under the Trees and Elsewhere
Mabie, Hamilton Wright
Essays; Natural history -- Outdoor books
I do not know whether it was Rosalind's smile or the sudden breaking of
the sun through the clouds that made the room brilliant; probably it
was both. Rosalind opened the lattice, and I saw that the rain had
ceased. The drops still hung on every leaf, but the clouds were
breaking into great shining masses, and the blue of the sky was of
unsearchable purity and depth. The sun poured a flood of light into
the heart of the Forest, and suddenly every tiny drop, that a moment
ago might have seemed a symbol of sorrow, held the radiant sun on its
little disk, and every sphere shone as if a universe of fairy creation
had been suddenly breathed into being. And the splendour touched
Rosalind also.
VII
. . . Pray you, if you know,
Where in the purlieus of this forest stands
A sheep-cote fenc'd about with olive trees?
* * * * *
The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream
Left on your right hand, brings you to the place.
But at this hour the house doth keep itself.
Years ago, when we were planning to build a certain modest little
house, Rosalind and I found endless delight in the pleasures of
anticipation. By day and by night our talk came back to the home we
were to make for ourselves. We discussed plan after plan and found
none quite to our mind; we examined critically the houses we visited;
we pored over books; we laid the experience of our friends under
contribution; and when at last we had agreed upon certain essentials we
called an architect to our aid, and fondly imagined that now the
prelude of discussion and delay was over, we should find unalloyed
delight in seeing our imaginary home swiftly take form and become a
thing of reality. Alas for our hopes! Expense followed fast upon
expense and delay upon delay. There were endless troubles with masons
and carpenters and plumbers; and when our dream was at last realised,
the charm of it had somehow vanished; so much anxiety, care, and
vexation had gone into the process of building that the completed
structure seemed to be a monument of our toil rather than a refuge from
the world.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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