After some labour, I reached the top; and halted to look about me well, before trusting to broad daylight.
The winter (as I said before) had been a very mild one; and now the spring was toward so that bank and bush were touched with it.

The valley into which I gazed was fair with early promise, having shelter from the wind and taking all the sunshine.

The willow-bushes over the stream hung as if they were angling with tasseled floats of gold and silver, bursting like a bean-pod.

Between them came the water laughing, like a maid at her own dancing, and spread with that young blue which never lives beyond the April.

And on either bank, the meadow ruffled as the breeze came by, opening (through new tuft, of green) daisy-bud or celandine, or a shy glimpse now and then of the love-lorn primrose.
Though I am so blank of wit, or perhaps for that same reason, these little things come and dwell with me, and I am happy about them, and long for nothing better.