Page:The story of Saville - told in numbers.djvu/37

 And there lurked no hint of the forestal green nor yet of the limitless blue. And then as they battled against the wind, sauntering to and fro, She preached him a little sermon she had studied that day in Thoreau, Her text, the chariot wheels of the storm, the six-spoked crystals of snow, Those faceted glorious spangles, the sweepings of heaven’s floor, Feathery petaled hexagonal flowers, diamond dusted o’er,— Why, we are sprent with gems! they fall in a wavering thistledown blur, In the gallery of the meadow mouse, on the restless squirrel’s fur, The schoolboy crushes them into a ball, the woodman follows his sled Through the wreck of a myriad fragile stars, strange as the stars o’erhead,— And Oh! ’twere a blasphemy to declare by some cold narrowing word Mechanical action got them: Divinity must have stirred In the germ pellucid and gelid, and so have they come to be 33