Dewdrops

The dewdrops on every blade of grass are so much like silver drops

that 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 the

hazels, whitethorns and maples are so like gold beads that I stooped

down to feel if they were hard, but they melted from my finger. And

where the dew lies on the primrose, the violet and whitethorn leaves

they are emerald and beryl, yet nothing more than the dews of the

morning on the budding leaves; nay, the road grasses are covered with

gold and silver beads, and the further we go the brighter they seem to

shine, like solid gold and silver. It is nothing more than the sun's

light and shade upon them in the dewy morning; every thorn-point and

every bramble-spear has its trembling ornament: till the wind gets

a little brisker, and then all is shaken off, and all the shining

jewelry passes away into a common spring morning full of budding

leaves, primroses, violets, vernal speedwell, bluebell and orchis, and

commonplace objects.