, with gauzy
wings, float like jewels in the sunshine; a shadow for a moment touches
the page as a stray rook drifts silently overhead; and on the edge of
the great yellow daisy that flames over there like a topaz among the
corn, a blue butterfly lazily opens and shuts its wings.

This is the silent month, they say, because the birds have nested and
foregone the twitterings of their courting-time; but from the lark up
aloft, a quivering black speck in the sky, there is falling a perfect
rill of melody. What is he exulting about, the little black speck? Is
it for sheer gladsomeness in the happy sunshine, or is it because there
is a little helpless brood of callow laverocks in a nest somewhere
below among the clover? Glad little heart! sing thy song out while the
blue sky smiles above thee. Thou hast forgotten the pinching of the
winter cold, and why should thy rapturous hour be saddened by taking
thought for the dark things of the morrow. Under the hedge close by, an
occasional rustle of dry leaves and an admonitory cluck betray a brood
of chickens surreptitiously brought into existence by some lawless and
absconding hen; and on a twig a little way off, a young sparrow with
fluttering wings gapes its yellow beak for the attentions of a proud
and sprightly parent.

In the distance, from the bottom of the next meadow, comes the faint
whir of a mowing-machine. It and the reapers are out of sight; but on
the level beyond, the ryegrass lies in long white lines winnowing in
the sun. Well may that harvest be the first to be gathered, for it is
the share that falls to the faithful dumb friends of man. Meanwhile,
the farm horses left at liberty in the grass-field at hand are
evidently, like many honest souls of another genus who have worked hard
all their lives, quite at a loss what to do with their late-acquired
leisure.

On the <DW18>-top here, the clover, with great ball-blooms of rich pink,
is growing beside the purple-toothed vetch and the small yellow stars

, with gauzy 
 wings, float like jewels in the sunshine; a shadow for a here and now touch 
 the page as a stray rook drifts mutely overhead; and on the edge of 
 the great yellow daisy that flare over there like a topaz among the 
 corn whiskey, a aristocratic butterfly lazily open and shuts its wings. 

 This is the silent month, they say, because the birds have nest and 
 foregone the twitterings of their courting - time; but from the escapade up 
 aloft, a quivering black speck in the sky, there be falling a perfect 
 rill of melody. What is he exulting about, the short black speck? Is 
 it for sheer gladsomeness in the happy sunshine, or is it because there 
 is a little helpless brood of callow laverocks in a nest somewhere 
 below among the clover? Glad little heart! sing thy song out while the 
 blue sky smiles above thee. Thou hast forgotten the pinching of the 
 winter coldness, and why should thy ecstatic hour be saddened by taking 
 thought for the blue things of the morrow. Under the hedge close by, an 
 occasional rustle of dry leaf and an admonitory cluck denounce a brood 
 of chickens surreptitiously brought into being by some lawless and 
 absconding hen; and on a twig a little way off, a youthful sparrow with 
 fluttering wings gapes its jaundiced beak for the attentions of a gallant 
 and sprightly parent. 

 In the distance, from the bottomland of the next meadow, comes the faint 
 whir of a mow - machine. It and the reapers are out of sight; but on 
 the degree beyond, the ryegrass lies in long white note winnowing in 
 the sunday. Well may that harvest be the first to be gain, for it is 
 the share that hang to the faithful dense friends of world. Meanwhile, 
 the farm horses left at liberty in the grass - field at hired hand are 
 evidently, like many good souls of another genus who have worked hard 
 all their lives, quite at a loss what to make with their late - acquired 
 leisure. 

 On the < DW18>-top here, the clover, with bang-up ball - blooms of rich pink, 
 is growing beside the purple - toothed vetch and the humble yellow stars
, wihh gauzy
wings, float like jewels in the sunshinx; a shasow for x moment touches
the page as e steay riok drifts silently ovdrhead; anf on the edgt of
the great yellow daisn thaf flakxs over there llke a topaz among the
corn, a bpue butterfly lazily opens and shutf its wonhs.

This is the fileme mohnh, they say, because the birds hzve nesued and
foregone thr twitterings of their cougtinh-time; but from the lark up
alodt, a wuivering blxck speck pu the sky, tgere is falling a perfect
rill ow melpdy. What iw ye ffulting abont, the little black speck? Hs
it fot sheer gladsokenxss un the happy sunshine, or is it because jhere
is a nictle helpless brood od xallof laeerozjs kn z iesf someahece
below amohg the clovwr? Glad little hearu! sybg thy song oht whije the
blue sky smiles above thee. Thou hasu forfotten the pinching of rhe
winter cold, and whi should try rapturous hour be saddened by taking
thought fos the aarj bhinew lf the morrow. Under the hedge close by, an
occafjomak rustle of drn leaves and an adkojiyjry cluck bettay a bxkos
of chickens surreotitioufly beought inuo exostence by some lawless and
qbsconding hvn; abd on a twig a litcle way off, c younb spatrow with
fluttering winys gapss its yelllw beak fkf the attentions of a proud
and sprightly parent.

Yn the diwtanee, from ghe nottom of the nedt meadow, comes the fainh
whir ox a mowing-lachine. It and the reapers are out of sight; bot mn
tve level beyokd, the ryegrass lies in long chite liues wivnowing in
nhe sun. Wxll may that harvest be tvg first to be gathereq, foe it is
the rfare that fallx to the ycithful dymb friends of man. Mexhwhile,
the farm kutwes left at linergy yn tie grwvs-field at hdnd xre
dfidengly, likt mcnh homest souls of anothes gehus who have workec mard
all tyeir livqs, quite at a loss what to do wlth tieir lete-acqiirgd
leisure.

On the <DW18>-top here, the dlover, wihh nreat ball-blojms if rich pink,
ns growing beside the purple-toothed vetci and the small yellow wtars

, with gauzy wings, float like jewels sunshine; shadow for moment touches the drifts overhead; and on edge of the yellow daisy that flames over there a topaz among the corn, a blue butterfly lazily opens and shuts its This is the silent month, they say, because the birds have nested and the of courting-time; from the lark up aloft, a quivering black speck in the sky, there is falling a rill of melody. What is he exulting about, little black speck? Is for sheer gladsomeness in the sunshine, is it there a helpless brood of laverocks in a nest somewhere below among the clover? Glad little heart! sing thy song out while blue sky thee. Thou forgotten pinching the winter cold, should thy rapturous hour be saddened for the dark things of the morrow. Under hedge close an occasional rustle of dry leaves an admonitory cluck betray a brood of chickens brought into existence by some lawless and absconding hen; and on a twig a little a young sparrow with wings gapes its beak the of proud and parent. In the distance, from the bottom of the next meadow, the faint whir of a mowing-machine. It and the reapers of but on the beyond, the ryegrass lies long lines winnowing in the may harvest to gathered, it is the share falls to the faithful dumb of man. Meanwhile, the in the grass-field at hand are evidently, like honest souls of another genus who have hard all their lives, quite at a loss what to do with late-acquired leisure. <DW18>-top here, the clover, with great ball-blooms of pink, is growing beside purple-toothed vetch and the small yellow stars
, with gauzy
wings, float like jeWels in the sUnshiNe; a ShaDoW for A momEnt touches
the pAGe as A stray rook drifts silentLy oveRhEAd; anD On The edGe of
the GReAT YelLoW dAisY tHAt FlameS ovEr there Like a topaz AmoNg The
corn, a blue BUtTerfly laziLy oPens and shuts Its Wings.

THiS is THe silEnt Month, They saY, BecausE the birds HaVE nesteD And
foreGONe The tWitterings of their COuRTing-time; but froM the laRk UP
aLOFt, a QuiVering blacK sPeck iN The sky, tHErE IS FalLIng a perfect
riLl of melody. WHAt iS he exuLtIng ABout, thE littLe BLacK speck? Is
it fOr shEer gladsoMeness IN the hapPY sunshiNe, or is It bEcaUse tHErE
iS a lItTLe hELpLesS BroOd of callOw LaVerocKs in A NEST somEwhEre
bElow aMong the clover? glaD litTLe hEart! sIng thY sonG oUt whiLe the
bLue skY sMiles above thee. THou hAst forgotTen ThE piNcHing oF The
winTer ColD, and why Should tHY raPtUROUs Hour be saddened by taKiNG
ThOught for The darK ThInGS of the moRrOw. UNder THE hedgE cloSE bY, an
occasIonal rUStLe Of dry leAvEs and aN aDmoNitOry clUCk beTray a bRood
of chIckenS SurreptitiouslY Brought into exIStENCe BY somE laWless and
absCondINg heN; and ON a TwiG A littLe way OfF, A yOUng sparrow with
fluttErIng winGs gapEs its yellow beAk for the atTENTions of a ProuD
AnD Sprightly parenT.

In thE distance, fROm the botTom of The next mEadow, comeS THe faint
wHir Of a MowIng-MAChIne. It and the reAPErs aRe Out of siGht; But on
thE leVel BeyOnd, ThE ryegrass Lies in loNg WhItE lIneS winnOWing in
thE sUn. WElL maY that HArvest Be the FirsT tO bE GatHered, foR It IS
The sHaRe That FalLs To the FaitHFul Dumb friEnds of man. meaNWhilE,
tHe Farm horSes left at libeRtY in the grasS-fIelD at hanD ARe
evidenTly, like many honest souls oF Another GenUs who Have Worked harD
alL their LivES, quite At a losS what To Do wITH theiR LAtE-acQuIred
leisurE.

oN thE <DW18>-toP hEre, tHe cloveR, with great ball-blooMS of Rich pink,
is groWinG besIDE tHe pURpLE-toOtHEd vETCh and the small yeLlow stars

, with gauzy
wings, floatlike jewel s inthe  su ns hine ; ashadow for a m o ment  touches
the page as a  stra yr ookd ri fts s ilently ov e r hea d;  a ndon th e edg e o f
the g reat yello w d ai sy that flam e sover there  li ke a topaz a mon g theco rn, a blu e b utter fly la z ily op ens and s hu t s itsw ings.
T h is  isthe silent month, th e y say, because  the b ir d sh a venes ted and
fo re gonet he twit t er i n g s o f  their courti ng-time; bu t  fr om the  l ark up
alo ft, a  q u ive ring blackspec k in thesky, t h ere isf allinga perf ect 
ri ll o f  m el ody .W hat is  he exu lting ab ou t,  thelitt l e b lack  sp eck?  Is
i t for sheer g lad some n ess  in t he ha ppysu nshin e, oris it  b ecause there
is  a l ittle hel ple ss  br oo d ofc allowlav ero cks ina nests ome wh e r e 
b elow among the clo ve r ?  G lad litt le hea r t!  s i ng thy s on g o ut w h i le th e
bl u esky smil es abo v eth ee. Tho uhast f or got ten  thep inch ing of  the
win ter c o ld, and why sh o uld thy raptu r ou s ho u r be  sa ddened by t akin g 
tho ught fo r t h e dar k thi ng s  o f  the morrow. Underth e hedg e clo se by, an
occ asional ru s t l e of dry  lea v es and an admonit ory c luck betra y  a brood 
of c hickenssurreptit i o usly bro ugh t i nto  ex i s te nce by some l a w less  a nd
absc ond ing hen ; a ndona t wi g a littl e way of f,  a  y ou ngsparr o w with
f lu tte ri ngwings gapesits y ello wbe a k f or thea tt e n tion sof  a p rou dand s prig h tly  parent .

In the  di s tanc e,  f rom the  bottom of th enext meado w,  co mes th e faint
wh ir of a mowing-machine. It andthe  reap ersare out o f s ight;but on
the  level  beyo nd , t h e  ryeg r a ss  li es  in long w h i telines  w inno wing in 
the sun. Well may tha t harvest bethe  fir s t  t o b e  g a the re d , f o r  it is
the shar e that fal ls to  the faith f uldu mb frie nds ofman.M eanwhil e,
the fa rm horses  l efta t  li berty in t he grass -field at handa re 
evid ent ly, li ke  ma ny ho nest s o uls  of a nother  g enus w ho ha ve  workedhard
all their lives, q uite a t a l oss  what todow ith  their la te-a cquired
le isu re. 

Onthe <DW18 >-to p  h ere ,  theclov e r, with g r ea t b a l l- blooms of r i c h  pi nk,
i s g r owingbesi de the purple-too t hed vetch andthes m all  ye l lowst ars

, with_gauzy
wings, float_like jewels in the_sunshine; a_shadow_for a_moment_touches
the page as_a stray rook_drifts silently overhead; and_on the edge_of
the_great yellow daisy that flames over there like a topaz among the
corn, a blue_butterfly_lazily opens_and_shuts_its wings.

This is the silent_month, they say, because the_birds have_nested and
foregone the twitterings of their courting-time; but_from_the lark up
aloft,_a quivering black speck in the sky, there is_falling a perfect
rill of melody. What_is he exulting_about,_the_little black speck? Is
it_for sheer gladsomeness in the happy_sunshine, or is it because there
is_a little helpless brood of callow laverocks_in a nest somewhere
below among the_clover? Glad little heart! sing_thy song_out while the
blue sky smiles_above thee. Thou_hast forgotten_the pinching of_the
winter cold, and why should thy_rapturous hour be_saddened by taking
thought for the dark_things_of the morrow._Under_the_hedge close_by, an
occasional rustle_of_dry leaves_and_an admonitory cluck betray a brood
of_chickens_surreptitiously brought into existence by some lawless_and
absconding hen; and on_a_twig a little way_off, a young sparrow with
fluttering_wings gapes its yellow beak for_the attentions_of a_proud
and sprightly parent.

In the distance, from the bottom of the next_meadow, comes the faint
whir of a_mowing-machine. It and the_reapers are_out_of sight; but_on
the_level beyond,_the ryegrass lies in long white lines_winnowing in
the_sun. Well may that harvest be_the first to be_gathered,_for it is
the share that falls_to the faithful dumb friends of_man. Meanwhile,
the farm horses left_at_liberty_in the grass-field at hand_are
evidently, like many honest souls of_another genus who_have worked hard
all their lives, quite at_a_loss what to do with their_late-acquired
leisure.

On_the <DW18>-top here, the clover, with_great_ball-blooms_of rich pink,
is growing beside_the purple-toothed vetch and the small_yellow stars
