Wood-Sorrel Lifts Its Delicate Veined Petals; The Leaf Is Rounded
Like The Shadow Of A Bubble On A Stone Under Clear Water.
I like to stay
by the wood-sorrel a little while - it is so chastely beautiful; like the
purest verse, it speaks to the inmost heart.
Staying, I hear
unconsciously - listen! Rush! rush! like a mighty wind in the wood.
It draws me on to the deep green pool inclosed about by rocks - a pool to
stand near and think into. The purple rock, dotted with black moss; the
white rock; the thin scarlet line; the green water; the overhanging tree;
the verdant moss upon the bank; the lady fern - are there still. But I see
also now a little pink somewhere in the water, much brown too, and shades
I know no name for. The water is not green, but holds in solution three
separate sets of colours. The confervae on the stones, the growths
beneath at the bottom waving a little as the water swirls like minute
seaweeds - these are brown and green and somewhat reddish too. Under water
the red rock is toned and paler, but has deep black cavities. Next, the
surface, continually changing as it rotates, throws back a different
light, and thirdly, the oaks' yellow-green high up, the pale ash, the
tender ferns drooping over low down confer their tints on the stream. So
from the floor of the pool, from the surface, and from the adjacent bank,
three sets of colours mingle. Washed together by the slow swirl, they
produce a shade - the brown of the Barle - lost in darkness where the bank
overhangs.
Following the current downwards at last the river for awhile flows in
quietness, broad and smooth. A trout leaps for a fly with his tail curved
in the air, full a foot out of water. Trout watch behind sunken stones,
and shoot to and fro as insects droop in their flight and appear about to
fall. So clear is the water and so brightly illuminated that the fish are
not easily seen - for vision depends on contrast - but in a minute I find a
way to discover them by their shadows. The black shadow of a trout is
distinct upon the bottom of the river, and guides the eye to the spot;
then looking higher in the transparent water there is the fish. It was
curious to see these black shadows darting to and fro as if themselves
animated and without bodies, for if the trout darted before being
observed the light concealed him in motion. Some of the trout came up
from under Torre-steps, a singular structure which here connects the
shores of the stream. Every one has seen a row of stepping-stones across
a shallow brook; now pile other stones on each of these, forming
buttresses, and lay flat stones like unhewn planks from buttress to
buttress, and you have the plan of this primitive bridge. It has a
megalithic appearance, as if associated with the age of rude stone
monuments.
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