A mist came into my eyes as I listened, and yet I thanked him. “Dear voice in the trees, you have said the things I felt, and could not say; but voicing my sadness you have given it wings to fly away.”
Springtime, or the Wedding of Maka Ina and El Sol
Oh, that was a stirring, glowing time! All the air, and the underwood seemed throbbed with pleasant murmuring voices. The streams were laughing, the deep pools smiling, as pussywillows scattered catkins on them from above. The oak trees and the birches put on little glad-hangers, like pennants on a gala ship. The pine trees set up their green candles, one on every big tip-twig. The dandelions made haste to glint the early fields with gold. The song toads and the peepers sang in volleys; the blackbirds wheeleo their mjnriad cohorts in the air, a guard of honour in review. The woodwale drummed. The redbud draped its naked limbs in early festal bloom; and Rumour the pretty liar smiled and spread the news.
All life was smiling with the frank unselfish smile, that tells of pleasure in another’s joy.
The love of love is wider than the world. And one who did not know their speech could yet have read in their reflected joy a magnitude of joyful happening, could guess that over two beings of the highest rank, the highest rank of happiness impended.
Yes, all the Uving world stood still at gaze: the story of the bridegroom, the gracious beauty of the bride were sung, for the wedding day had come. And Mother Carey, she was there, for were they not her peers? And the Evil One — he came, but slunk away, for the blessing of the one Great Oversoul was on them.