waters, and ended at a
quiet grave overgrown with brambles, nettles, and soapwort.

In the dark grove he found the guardian-angel of his childhood. He had
the golden wings of a wasp, fair hair, and a face as calm as the water
of a well on a summer's day.

The guardian-angel said to the poet:

"Do you remember when you were a child? You came here with your father
and mother who were going fishing. The field near by was warm and
covered with flowers and grasshoppers. The grasshoppers looked like
broken blades of moving grass. Do you wish to see this place again, my
friend?"

The poet answered: "Yes."

So they went together as far as the blue river over which there were
the blue sky and the dark nut-trees.

"Behold your childhood," said the angel.

The poet looked at the water and wept and said:

"I no longer see the reflection of the beloved faces of my mother and
father. They used to sit on the bank. They were calm, good, and happy.
I had on a white pinafore which was always getting dirty, and mamma
cleaned it with her handkerchief. Dear angel, tell me what has become
of the reflections of their beloved faces? I no longer see them. I no
longer see them."

At that moment a cluster of wild nuts dropped from a hazel-tree and
floated down the stream of water.

And the angel said to the poet:

"The reflection of your father and mother went on with the stream of
water like those nuts. For everything obeys the current, substance
as well as shadow. The image of your beloved parents is merged in the
water and what remains is called memory. Recollect and pray. And you
will find the dearly loved images again."

And as an azure kingfisher darted above the reeds, the poet cried:

"Dear angel! Do I not see the color of my mother's eyes in the wings
of that bird?"

And the divine spirit answered:

"It is as you have said. But look again."

From the top of a tree where a turtle-dove had built her nest a downy
white feather fell soaring and eddying to the water.

And the poet cried:

"Dear angel! Is not this white down, my mother's gentle purity?"

And the divine spirit answered:

"It is as you have said."

A light breeze ruffled the water and made the leaves rustle.

The poet asked:

"Is not that the grave sweet voice of my father?"

And the spirit answered:

"It is as you have said."

Then they walked along the road which left the grove and followed the
river. And soon under the glare of the sun the