Many Such There Are,
Fair Ferns And Flowers And Chiefly That Tall Fern,
So Stately, Of The Queen Osmunda Named:
Plant Lovelier, In Its Own Retired Abode
On Grasmere's Beach, Than Naiad By The Side
Of Grecian Brook Or Lady Of The Mere,
Sole Sitting By The Shores Of Old Romance.
The mngled beauty and majesty of the landscape near Deerfield
was so simple, yet so charming, that thoughts of serious
questions were out of the question.
The sky was partly overcast
with clouds offering lovely breadths of light and shade. Every
ledge of rocks along the brown, foaming water of the Deerfield
river was draped with weld clematis, ferns, vines, and moss. As
the stream dashed along at our left it broke the rich mass of
verdure with its silvery gleam.
By the side of the road a woman was selling honey made from
mountain flowers. We bought several pounds and found it most
excellent. The comb was so thin that it seemed to melt in one's
mouth, and the flavor had in it a "subtle deliciousness" clearly
indicating its source.
We halted here not so much, because we wanted the honey, but to
have more time in which to take a last look at the valley. What
a picture it made! The few scattered houses reposing in the
valley or nestling along the edge of the towering hills made a
frame for the rich green and gold of the fields whenever the sun
peeped out from behind the clouds.
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