Be this as it may, the month of June is a
segment of heaven annually bestowed on those whose eyes and ears have been
opened to beauty in sight and sound. Indeed, what sense in man is not
gratified to the point of imaginary perfection during this early fruition
of the varied promise of spring? Even to the sense of touch, how exquisite
is the "feel" of the fragrant rose-petals, the soft young foliage that has
transformed the world, and the queer downy fledglings in innumerable nests!
To the eye informed by a heart in love with nature the longest days of the
year are all too short to note half that exists and takes place. Who sees
and distinguishes the varied blossoming of the many kinds of grain and
grasses that are waving in every field? And yet here is a beauty as
distinct and delicate as can be found in some of Mendelssohn's "Songs
without Words"--blossomings so odd, delicate, and evanescent as to suggest
a child's dream of a flower. Place them under a strong glass, and who can
fail to wonder at the miracles of form and color that are revealed? From
these tiny flowerets the scale runs upward until it touches the hybrid
rose. During this period, also, many of the forest trees emulate the wild
flowers at their feet until their inflorescence culminates in the white
cord-like fringe that foretells the spiny chestnut burrs.
So much has been written comparing this exquisite season when spring
passes insensibly into summer with the fulfilled prophecy of girlhood,
that no attempt shall be made to repeat the simile.
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