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I was watched contemptuously；
though no one had the least idea of my object。 But I went
every morning； and was satisfied if I could get two or three minutes to
think unchecked。 Often I saw the sun rise over the line of the hills； but if
it was summer the sun had been up a long time。
I looked at the hills； at the dewy grass； and then up through
the elm branches to the sky。 In a moment all that was behind
me； the house； the people； the sounds； seemed to disappear； and to leave me
alone。 Involuntarily I drew a long breath； then I
breathed slowly。 My thought； or inner consciousness； went up through the
illumined sky； and I was lost in a moment of exaltation。 This only lasted a
very short time； perhaps only
part of a second； and while it lasted there was no formulated wish。 I was
absorbed； I drank the beauty of the morning； I was exalted。 When it ceased
I did wish for some increase or enlargement of my existence to correspond
with the largeness of feeling I had momentarily enjoyed。 Sometimes the wind
came through the tops of the elms； and the slender boughs bent； and gazing
up through them； and beyond the fleecy clouds； I felt lifted up。 The light
coming across the grass and leaving itself on the dew…drops； the sound of
the wind； and the sense of mounting to the lofty heaven； filled me with a
deep sigh； a wish to draw something out of the beauty of it； some part of
that which caused my admiration； the subtle inner essence。
Sometimes the green tips of the highest boughs seemed gilded；
the light laid a gold on the green。 Or the trees bowed to a
stormy wind roaring through them； the grass threw itself down； and in the
east broad curtains of a rosy tint stretched along。 The light was turned to
redness in the vapour； and rain hid the
summit of the hill。 In the rush and roar of the stormy wind the
same exaltation； the same desire； lifted me for a moment。 I went there every
morning； I could not exactly define why； it was like going to a rose bush to
taste the scent of the flower and feel the dew from its petals on the lips。
But I desired the beautythe inner subtle meaningto be in me； that I
might have it； and with it an existence of a higher kind。
Later on I began to have daily pilgrimages to think these things。 There was
a feeling that I must go somewhere； and be alone。 It was a necessity to have
a few minutes of this separate life every day； my mind required to live its
own life apart from other things。 A great oak at a short distance was one
resort； and sitting on the grass at the roots； or leaning against the trunk
and looking over the quiet meadows towards the bright southern sky； I could
live my own life a little while。 Behind the trunk I was alone； I liked to
lean against it； to touch the lichenon the rough bark。 High in the wood of
branches the birds were not alarmed； they sang； or called； and passed to and
fro happily。 The wind moved the leaves； and they replied to it softly； and
now at this distance of time I can see the fragments of sky up through the
boughs。 Bees were always humming in the green field； ring…doves went over
swiftly； flying for the woods。
Of the sun I was conscious； I could not look at it； but the boughs held back
the beams so that I could feel the sun's
presence pleasantly。 They shaded the sun； yet let me know that
it was there。 There came to me a delicate； but at the same time
a deep； strong； and sensuous enjoyment of the beautiful green
earth； the beautiful sky and sun； I felt them； they gave me
inexpressible delight； as if they embraced and poured out their love upon
me。 It was I who loved them； for my heart was broader than the earth； it is
broader now than even then； more thirsty and desirous。 After the sensuous
enjoyment always came the thought； the desire： That I might be like this；
that I might have the inner meaning of the sun； the light； the earth； the
trees and grass； translated into some growth of excellence in myself； both
of body and of mind； greater perfection of physique； greater perfection of
mind and soul； that I might be higher in myself。 To this oak I came daily
for a long time； sometimes only for a minute； for just to view the spot was
enough。 In the bitter cold of spring； when the north wind blackened
everything； I used to come now and then at night to look from under the bare
branches at the splendour of the southern sky。 The stars burned with
brilliance； broad Orion and flashing Siriusthere are more or brighter
constellations visible then than all the year： and the clearness of the air
and the blackness of the skyblack； not cloudedlet them gleam in their
fulness。 They lifted methey gave me fresh vigour of soul。 Not all that the
stars could have given； had they been destinies； could have satiated me。
This； all this； and
more； I wanted in myself。
There was a place a mile or so along the road where the hills
could be seen much better； I went there frequently to think the
same thought。 Another spot was by an elm； a very short walk；
where openings in the trees； and the slope of the ground；
brought the hills well into view。 This too； was a favourite
thinking…place。 Another was a wood； half an hour's walk
distant； through part of which a rude track went； so that it was
not altogether inclosed。 The ash…saplings； and the trees； the
firs； the hazel bushesto be among these enabled me to be
myself。 From the buds of spring to the berries of autumn； I
always liked to be there。 Sometimes in spring there was a sheen of
blue…bells covering acres； the doves cooed； the blackbirds whistled sweetly；
there was a taste of green things in the air。 But it was the tall firs that
pleased me most； the glance rose up the flame…shaped fir…tree； tapering to
its green tip； and above was the azure sky。 By aid of the tree I felt the
sky more。 By aid of everything beautiful I felt myself； and in that intense
sense of consciousness prayed for greater perfection of soul and body。
Afterwards； I walked almost daily more than two miles along the
road to a spot where the hills began； where from the first rise
the road could be seen winding southwards over the hills； open
and uninclosed。 I paused a minute or two by a clump of firs； in
whose branches the wind always sighedthere is always a movement of the air
on a hill。 Southwwards the sky was illumined by the sun； southwards the
clouds moved across the opening or pass in the amphitheatre； and southwards；
though far distant； was the sea。 There I could think a moment。 These
pilgrimages gave me a few sacred minutes daily； the moment seemed holy when
the thought or desire came in its full force。
A time came when； having to live in a town； these pilgrimages
had to be suspended。 The wearisome work on which I was engaged
would not permit of them。 But I used to look now and then； from
a window； in the evening at a birch…tree at some distance； its
graceful boughs drooped across the glow of the sunset。 The
thought was not suspended； it lived in me always。 A bitterer
time still came when it was necessary to be separated from those
I loved。 There is little indeed in the more immediate suburbs
of London to gratify the sense of the beautiful。 Yet there was a cedar by
which I used to walk up and down； and think the
same thoughts as under the great oak in the solitude of the sunlit meadows。
In the course of slow time happier circumstances brought us together again；
and； though near London； at a spot where there was easy access to meadows
and woods。 Hills that purify those who walk on them there were
not。 Still I thought my old thoughts。
I was much in London； and； engagements completed； I wandered about in the
same way as in the woods of former days。 From the
stone bridges I looked down on the river； the gritty dust； the
straws that lie on the bridges； flew up and whirled round with
every gust from the flowing tide； gritty dust that settles in
the nostrils and on the lips； the very residuum of all that is
repulsive in the greatest city of the world。 The noise of the
traffic and the constant pressure from the crowds passing；
their incessant and disjointed talk； could not distract me。 One moment at
least I had； a moment when I thought of the push of the great sea forcing
the water to flow under the feet of these crowds； the distant sea strong and
splendid； when I saw the sunlight gleam on the tidal wavelets； when I felt
the wind； and was conscious of the earth； the sea； the sun； the air； the
immense forces working on； while the city hummed by the river。 Nature was
deepened by the crowds and foot…worn stones。 If the tide had ebbed； and the
masts of the vessels were tilted as the hulls rested on the shelving mud；
still even the blackened mud did not prevent me seeing the water as water
flowing to the sea。 The sea had drawn down； and the wavelets washing the
strand here as they hastened were running the faster to it。 Eastwards from
London Bridge the river raced to the ocean。
The bright morning sun of summer heated the eastern parapet of
London Bridge； I stayed in the recess to acknowledge it。 The
smooth water was a broad sheen of light； the built…up river
flowed calm and silent by a thousand doors； rippling only where
the stream chafed against a chain。 Re