bedstraw blooms the eye
rises easily to the forest of jewel-weeds. These at least are
rightly, if unconsciously, named. It is not only the bloom but the
whole weed that is a jewel when the morning sun is low and the
reflected light slides level into the forest among purple stems
that shoal into transparent green as they slender toward the
leaves. These, too, seem transluscent and glow, and then some
sprite seems to have suddenly turned on the jewels. Strange that
they did not flash to my eyes even before I came to the place, on
my way down the hill. Perhaps it is some trick of light and shade
that makes them flash on at a certain time and glow like
transparent gold shot through with light. No jeweller could make
these: they are such as a fairy prince might, hang on the pale
green breast of a dryad, a nuptial gift of surpassing value out of
fairy coffers.

At the thought I see more clearly still and each plant becomes a
slender personality of the forest, a nymph whose purple life-blood
runs clear in delicate veins under a skin of transluscent green.
Out of what trees they stepped seems not difficult to tell. Surely
this one came down out of a pasture elm to bathe slim feet in the
cool spring water. Here are smaller, more slender creatures that
came from white birches, and that group of stately ones stepped
out of the tall white pines that stand on the slope nearby. No
wonder the other creatures of the glade adore these slim green
dryads of the swamp. The misty green bedstraw fawns about their
feet and makes lace for their gowns. The polygonum blushes pink
and stretches long arms toward them. The white alders, to whose
tips beauty and fragrance still cling bend over them and toss
white petals and perfume their way, while even the homely
bur-marigold seems to glow a little better yellow in fondness, though
it very properly keeps its distance. Rough rushes nod three-cornered
approval and I am sure the spinulose wood ferns crowd down into
wetter spots than anywhere else, just to get sight of them.
In fact they stand in such wet ground that you might think
them Nephrodium cristatum instead of Nephrodium spinulosum were it
not for the delicate fringing of their fronds which no other fern
can equal. While these things happen I think I can see the dryads
quiver with delight and their jewels dance and flash, living
creatures rather than gems. Surely if anyone may wear living
jewels it should be dryads. They have a trick of fac