It sang clearly the song of love.

That ever was the burden of its tidings--youth in the shady woods, waders through the wet meadows, boy and girl at the hedgerow stile, bathers in the booming surf, sweet, idle hours on grassy, windy hills, long strolls down moonlit lanes--everywhere in far-off lands, fingers locked and bursting hearts and longing lips--from all the world tidings of unquenchable love.
Often, in these hours of dreams he watched the girl, and asked himself of what was she dreaming?
For the changing light of the valley reflected its gleam and its color and its meaning in the changing light of her eyes.

He saw in them infinitely more than he saw in his dreams.

He saw thought and soul and nature--strong vision of life.

All tidings the west wind blew from distance and age he found deep in those dark-blue depths, and found them mysteries solved.