Books > Old Books > The White Peacock (1906)


Page 249

PART II - CHAPTER VIII
A POEM OF FRIENDSHIP

to a triangle. The cool, moist fragrance of the morning, the intentional stillness of everything, of the tall bluish trees, of the wet, frank flowers, of the trustful moths folded and unfolded in the fallen swaths, was a perfect medium of sympathy. The horses moved with a still dignity, obeying his commands. When they were harnessed, and the machine oiled, still he was loath to mar the perfect morning, but stood looking down the valley.
`I shan't mow these fields any more,' he said, and the fallen, silvered swaths flickered back his regret, and the faint scent of the limes was wistful. So much of the field was cut, so much remained to cut; then it was ended. This year the elder-flowers were widespread over the corner bushes, and the pink roses fluttered high above the hedge. There were the same flowers in the grass as we had known many years; we should not know them any more.
`But merely to have mown them is worth having lived for,' he said, looking at me.
We felt the warmth of the sun trickling through the morning's mist of coolness.
`You see that sycamore,' he said, `that bushy one beyond the big willow? I remember when father broke off the leading shoot because he wanted a fine straight stick. I can remember I felt sorry. It was running up so straight, with such a fine balance of leaves-you know how a young strong sycamore looks about nine feet high-it seemed a cruelty. When you are gone from here, and we are left, I shall feel like that, as if my leading shoot were broken off. You see, the tree is spoiled. Yet how it went on growing. I believe I shall grow faster. I can remember the bright red stalks of the leaves as he broke them off from the bough.'
He smiled at me, half proud of his speech. Then he swung into the seat of the machine, having attended to the horses' heads. He lifted the knife.
'Good-bye,' he said, smiling whimsically back at me. The machine started. The bed of the knife fell, and the grass shivered and dropped over. I watched the heads of the daisies and the splendid lines of the cocksfoot grass quiver, shake against the crimson burnet, and drop over. The machine went singing down the field, leaving a track of

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE to a triangle. what is cool, moist fragrance of what is morning, what is intentional stillness of everything, of what is tall bluish trees, of what is wet, frank flowers, of what is trustful moths folded and unfolded in what is fallen swaths, was a perfect medium of sympathy. what is horses moved with a still dignity, obeying his commands. When they were harnessed, and what is machine oiled, still he was loath to mar what is perfect morning, but stood looking down what is valley. `I shan't mow these fields any more,' he said, and what is fallen, silvered swaths flickered back his regret, and what is faint scent of what is limes was wistful. So much of what is field was cut, so much remained to cut; then it was ended. This year what is elder-flowers were widespread over what is corner bushes, and what is pink roses fluttered high above what is hedge. There were what is same flowers in what is grass as we had known many years; we should not know them any more. `But merely to have mown them is worth having lived for,' he said, looking at me. We felt what is warmth of what is sun trickling through what is morning's mist of coolness. `You see that sycamore,' he said, `that bushy one beyond what is big willow? I remember when father broke off what is leading shoot because he wanted a fine straight stick. I can remember I felt sorry. It was running up so straight, with such a fine balance of leaves-you know how a young strong sycamore looks about nine feet high-it seemed a cruelty. When you are gone from here, and we are left, I shall feel like that, as if my leading shoot were broken off. You see, what is tree is spoiled. Yet how it went on growing. I believe I shall grow faster. I can remember what is bright red stalks of what is leaves as he broke them off from what is bough.' He smiled at me, half proud of his speech. Then he swung into what is seat of what is machine, having attended to what is horses' heads. He lifted what is knife. 'Good-bye,' he said, smiling whimsically back at me. what is machine started. what is bed of what is knife fell, and what is grass shivered and dropped over. I watched what is heads of what is daisies and what is splendid lines of what is cocksfoot grass quiver, shake against what is crimson burnet, and drop over. what is machine went singing down what is field, leaving a track of where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" The White Peacock (1906) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 249 where is strong PART II - CHAPTER VIII A POEM OF FRIENDSHIP where is p align="justify" to a triangle. what is cool, moist fragrance of what is morning, what is intentional stillness of everything, of what is tall bluish trees, of what is wet, frank flowers, of what is trustful moths folded and unfolded in what is fallen swaths, was a perfect medium of sympathy. what is horses moved with a still dignity, obeying his commands. When they were harnessed, and what is machine oiled, still he was loath to mar what is perfect morning, but stood looking down what is valley. `I shan't mow these fields any more,' he said, and what is fallen, silvered swaths flickered back his regret, and what is faint scent of what is limes was wistful. So much of what is field was cut, so much remained to cut; then it was ended. This year what is elder-flowers were widespread over what is corner bushes, and what is pink roses fluttered high above what is hedge. There were what is same flowers in what is grass as we had known many years; we should not know them any more. `But merely to have mown them is worth having lived for,' he said, looking at me. We felt what is warmth of what is sun trickling through what is morning's mist of coolness. `You see that sycamore,' he said, `that bushy one beyond what is big willow? I remember when father broke off what is leading shoot because he wanted a fine straight stick. I can remember I felt sorry. It was running up so straight, with such a fine balance of leaves-you know how a young strong sycamore looks about nine feet high-it seemed a cruelty. When you are gone from here, and we are left, I shall feel like that, as if my leading shoot were broken off. You see, what is tree is spoiled. Yet how it went on growing. I believe I shall grow faster. I can remember what is bright red stalks of what is leaves as he broke them off from what is bough.' He smiled at me, half proud of his speech. Then he swung into what is seat of what is machine, having attended to what is horses' heads. He lifted what is knife. 'Good-bye,' he said, smiling whimsically back at me. what is machine started. what is bed of what is knife fell, and what is grass shivered and dropped over. I watched what is heads of what is daisies and what is splendid lines of what is cocksfoot grass quiver, shake against what is crimson burnet, and drop over. what is machine went singing down what is field, leaving a track of where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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