the children-第11节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


which　you　have　seen　good　reason；　in　later　life；　to　mitigate。　　Upon
curls；　or　too　much　youthfulness　in　the　aged；　you　had　no　mercy。　　To
sum　up　the　things　you　hated　inordinately；　they　were　friskiness　of
manner　and　of　trimmings；　and　curls　combined　with　rather　bygone　or
frumpish　fashions。　　Too　much　childish　dislike　was　wasted　so。

But　you　admired　some　things　without　regard　to　rules　of　beauty　learnt
later。　　At　some　seven　years　old　you　dwelt　with　delight　upon　the
contrast　of　a　white　kid　glove　and　a　bright　red　wrist。　　Well；　this　is
not　the　received　arrangement；　but　red　and　white　do　go　well　together；
and　their　distribution　has　to　be　taught　with　time。　　Whose　were　the
wrist　and　glove？　　Certainly　some　one's　who　must　have　been　distressed
at　the　bouquet　of　colour　that　you　admired。　　This；　however；　was　but　a
local　admiration。　　You　did　not　admire　the　girl　as　a　whole。　　She　whom
you　adored　was　always　a　married　woman　of　a　certain　age；　rather
faded；　it　might　be；　but　always　divinely　elegant。　　She　alone　was
worthy　to　stand　at　the　side　of　your　mother。　　You　lay　in　wait　for　the
border　of　her　train；　and　dodged　for　a　chance　of　holding　her　bracelet
when　she　played。　　You　composed　prose　in　honour　of　her　and　called　the
composition　（for　reasons　unknown　to　yourself）　a　〃catalogue。〃　　She
took　singularly　little　notice　of　you。

Wordsworth　cannot　say　too　much　of　your　passion　for　nature。　　The
light　of　summer　morning　before　sunrise　was　to　you　a　spiritual
splendour　for　which　you　wanted　no　name。　　The　Mediterranean　under　the
first　perceptible　touch　of　the　moon；　the　calm　southern　sea　in　the
full　blossom　of　summer；　the　early　spring　everywhere；　in　the　showery
streets；　in　the　fields；　or　at　sea；　left　old　childish　memories　with
you　which　you　try　to　evoke　now　when　you　see　them　again。　　But　the
cloudy　dusk　behind　poplars　on　the　plains　of　France；　the　flying
landscape　from　the　train；　willows；　and　the　last　of　the　light；　were
more　mournful　to　you　then　than　you　care　to　remember　now。　　So　were
the　black　crosses　on　the　graves　of　the　French　village；　so　were
cypresses；　though　greatly　beloved。

If　you　were　happy　enough　to　be　an　internationally　educated　child；
you　had　much　at　heart　the　heart　of　every　country　you　knew。　　You
disliked　the　English　accent　of　your　compatriots　abroad　with　a　scorn
to　which；　needless　to　say；　you　are　not　tempted　now。　　You　had　shocks
of　delight　from　Swiss　woods　full　of　lilies　of　the　valley；　and　from
English　fields　full　of　cowslips。　　You　had　disquieting　dreams　of
landscape　and　sun；　and　of　many　of　these　you　cannot　now　tell　which
were　visions　of　travel　and　which　visions　of　slumber。　　Your　strong
sense　of　place　made　you　love　some　places　too　keenly　for　peace。







End