Excerpt from The Ideal Life

It is Spring, and the whole world is green, green overhead, where the wind and the tree-tops talk together as it "bloweth where it listeth, " green lower down where the nests hang between floating lights and shadows in the leafy boughs, and unseen winged things twitter and stir in the verdant silence, green under foot where the lush meadow grasses grow thick by every pool and limpid stream. The Spring is abroad, in the air, which is resonant and vibrant with all clear, sweet sounds, in the orchards, where the fruit-trees stand by night with a white spray and mist of blossoms in the silvery moonshine, and, in the long pastures, green and fresh and sweet, where the herds of cattle wander at their will.

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