It is indeed a pleasure thus to open the gate while my friend leads us away from the din and rush of the city into "God's great out-of-doors." Having walked with him on "Some Winter Days," one is all the more eager to follow him in the gentler months of Spring--that mother-season, with its brooding pathos, and its seeds stirring in their sleep as if they dreamed of flowers. Our guide is at once an expert and a friend, a man of science and a poet. If he should sleep a year, like dear old Rip, he would know, by the calendar of the flowers, what day of the month he awoke. He knows the story of trees, the arts of insects, the habits of birds and their parts of speech. His wealth of detail is am…
Your support pays for translating these classics into more languages.
Support for $12/month DonateSubscribers read with instant translation, without waiting for the free daily limit.