Childhood I
lawn three fir-trees rise sharply to the sky, their dark shades homing a few birds.
And beyond is the orchard, and down its avenues of mould-smitten trees the path leads to the paddocks, with their mushrooms and fairy-rings, and to the flatlands stretching till the girding hills complete our vision.
But on a hill-top, cut clean against a sunrise, is the figure of a child, full of an impatient gesture.
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