File:Wessex (1906) (14776075981).jpg

Identifier: wessex00hollrich (find matches)
Title: Wessex
Year: 1906 (1900s)
Authors: Holland, Clive, 1866- Tyndale, Walter, 1855-1943
Subjects: Dorset (England) -- Description and travel
Publisher: London : Adam & Charles Black
Contributing Library: University of California Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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against the rushes and pours forth a humming melodylike that of a slowly driven spinning-wheel. The coothas built her nest and hatched young, and now shesails across the quiet reaches of the river with aflotilla of fledglings in her wake. Sometimes yet inWessex, if the wanderer is fortunate, he may catch aglimpse of a sheeny kingfisher, watching from a willowtrunk with bright eye, or flashing like a ray ofamethyst and emerald downward into the shimmeringwater. In the farther woods which lie amid the hills thereis a shade for the weary—the deep shade and thesilence of the eternal. Underneath is the carpet offlowers which love the coolness and the filtered lightsof the woods—tall foxgloves mottled pink and white,wood betony and yellow toad-flax, and the emerald-green mosses and colour-enriched lichen, which fewfabrics woven by human hands have succeeded inimitating in colour or rivalling in beauty. Whilsthidden in the upper branches of the overshadowing 236 SPRING IN WESSBX ■^ »l
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Noon and Eve foliage the song-birds note, hushed in the sun-strickenopen, makes melody. In the silence of the summers day— The time so tranquil is and clear. That nowhere shall ye find,Save on a high and barren hill, An air of passing wind. All trees and simples, great and small. That balmy leaf do bear.Than they were painted on a wall. No more they move or stir. On the high chalk downs, whose rounded bosses,in the springtime green as emerald, now have takenupon them somewhat of the tan of summers sun,the great flocks are wandering, and the tinkle of sheep-bells (the music loved of shepherds) floats faintly downinto the valleys. On these uplands, the soft summersbreeze sings at early morn and at even in the gorse,but at noon is silent, made dumb by the ambientsunshine. But when the night-wind blows, it is scented with theperfume of gorse and upland flowers—wild thyme andbriar and pinks,—and the shadows thrown by themoonlight chase each other across the hill-slopes, andthe conies

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