Dewdrops
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he dewdrops on every blade of grass are so much like silver dropsthat I am obliged to stoop down as I walk to see if they are pearls,and those sprinkled on the ivy-woven beds of primroses underneath thehazels, whitethorns and maples are so like gold beads that I stoopeddown to feel if they were hard, but they melted from my finger. Andwhere the dew lies on the primrose, the violet and whitethorn leavesthey are emerald and beryl, yet nothing more than the dews of themorning on the budding leaves; nay, the road grasses are covered withgold and silver beads, and the further we go the brighter they seem toshine, like solid gold and silver. It is nothing more than the sun'slight and shade upon them in the dewy morning; every thorn-point andevery bramble-spear has its trembling ornament: till the wind getsa little brisker, and then all is shaken off, and all the shiningjewelry passes away into a common spring morning full of buddingleaves, primroses, violets, vernal speedwell, bluebell and orchis, andcommonplace objects.
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