A stream of amber
diffused itself below the paling stars. Rising from a furnace below
the horizon it reached across and touched the zenith, painting mid-
heaven with a mystery none could understand; then sank downwards and
dipped the crests of the trees, the lawn, the moss-grown tiles upon
the roof in that sea of everlasting wonder which is light.
Dawn caught the old sleeping world once more in its breathless beauty.
The earth turned over in her sleep, gasped with delight--and woke.
There was a murmur and a movement everywhere. The spacious, stately
life that breathes o'er ancient trees came forth from the wood without
a centre; from the lines emanated that gracious, almost tender force
they harvest in the spring. There was a little shiver of joy among the
rose trees. The daisies blinked and stared. And the earth broke into
singing.
Then, in this chorus, came a pause; the thousand voices hushed a
moment; the robin ceased its passionate solo in the shrubbery. All
listened--listened to another and far sweeter song that stirred with
the morning wind among the rose trees. It was very soft and tender, it
died away and returned with a faint, mysterious murmur, it rose and
fell so gently that it may have been only the rustling of their
thousand leaves that guard the opening blossoms.
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