By Edward Thomas
The green elm with the one great bough of gold
Lets leaves into the grass slip, one by one, --
The short hill grass, the mushrooms small milk-white,
Harebell and scabious and tormentil,
That blackberry and gorse, in dew and sun,
Bow down to; and the wind travels too light
To shake the fallen birch leaves from the fern;
The gossamers wander at their own will.
At heavier steps than birds' the squirrels scold.
The rich scene has grown fresh again and new
As Spring and to the touch is not more cool
Than it is warm to the gaze; and now I might
As happy be as earth is beautiful,
Were I some other or with earth could turn
In alternation of violet and rose,
Harebell and snowdrop, at their season due,
And gorse that has no time not to be gay.
But if this be not happiness, -- who knows?
Some day I shall think this a happy day,
And this mood by the name of melancholy
Shall no more blackened and obscured be.
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Once again I have spent all evening watching the Nationals beat the Astros, in commanding fashion this time which was extremely enjoyable to watch! So I will be brief! I stopped at my parents' house to pick up a dress I had my mother's seamstress alter and ended up staying for breakfast, then I went to Cabin John Park for a Darkrai raid and a walk because it was gorgeous out.
Afterward I came home to get some work done before dinner and feed cats who were distressed because there was a bunny in the front yard. From our visit to Penn the weekend before last, Locust Walk from Superblock toward 34th Street, including two Ben Franklin statues, the Wharton School (yes I know), the English Department, and three views of the gorgeous Fisher Fine Arts Library:
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