Towards democracy

480 Towards Democracy

Amid all, glides in the little word Now.

As when the winds of March with their long brooms | sweep the dead leaves from the surface of the ground, and the Earth in virgin beauty with the growing grass once more appears ;

So when all this debris of thought from the Past, of © anxiety about the Morrow, Is at last swept away,

Does the vast ever-Present beneath reveal its perfect |

rondure.

A Summer Day

Sie: once again the ethereal blue of the sky—the 1 limpid air—the all-enfolding sunlight, 3 Here in the great tumultuous abounding city, or agai m the far woods among the fallen oak-boles and the fox-gloves, The far floating ever haunting shimmer of uncaught beauty : I recognise that in all and everywhere it is the same: : Somehow to hold and have this in oneselfThis light and everlasting space, . This real eternal, whence the sensible light and space are!s bornSomehow to hold from all things still a little aloof for this : No rock that stands above the river’s edge—but that? which illumines the rock ; No brown sail in the bay—but the sweet undirected air

that wafts it;