Monday evening.
... “How I enjoyed my breakfast this morning! (in the lovely garden, in a vine-shadowed arbour or pergola, with great tall poplars and other trees billowing against the deep blue). Then a cigarette, a stroll in the lovely sunlit-dappled green shadowiness of an adjoining up-sloping avenue—and a seat for a little on a deserted south-wall bench (because of the blazing heat) for a sun-bath, while I watched a nightingale helping its young to fly among the creaming elders and masses of wild-rose, while her mate swung on a beech-branch and called long sweet exquisite cries of a thrilling poignancy (which, however, might only be “Now then, Jenny, look out, or Tommy will fall into that mass of syringa:—hillo! there’s Bobby and Polly gone and got scratched pecking at these confounded white wild-roses!).”
Then I got up to come in and write to you (gladly in one way, reluctantly in another for I seem to drink in life in the strong sunlight and heat), but first stopped to speak to a gorgeous solitary dandelion. I stroked it gently, and said “Hullo, wee brother, isn’t the world beautiful? Hold up your wee head and rejoice!” And it turned up its wee golden nose and said “Keep your hair on, you old skidamalink, I’m rejoicing as hard as ever I can. I’m always rejoicing. What else would I do? You are a rum old un-shiny animal on two silly legs!” So we laughed, and parted—but he called me back, and said gently in a wee soft goldy-yellow voice, “Don’t think me rude, Brother of Joy. It’s only my way. I love you because you love me and don’t despise me. Shake pinkies!”—so I gave him a pinkie and he gave me a wee golden-yellow pinkie-petal....
Tell Marjorie[5] the wee Dandelion was asking about her and sends her his love—also a milky daisy that says Hooray! every morning when it wakes, and then is so pleased and astonished that it remains silently smiling till next morning.
This flower and bird talk doesn’t bother you, does it? Don’t think I don’t realise how ill I have been and in a small way still am: but I don’t think about it, and am quite glad and happy in this lovely June-glory....”
He broke his return journey at Doorn with our friends M. and Mme. Grandmont and wrote to me:
July, 1905.
“ ... How you’d love to be here!
Nothing visible but green depths fading into green depths, and fringing the sky-lines the endless surf of boughs and branches. From the forest-glades the cooing of doves and the travelling-voice of a flowing cool sweet wind of this delicious morning. I always gain immensely in mind and body from nearness to woodlands and green growth—hence in no small part my feeling for Fontainebleau. I’d such a lot to tell you about it—and of what we should strive to obtain for ourselves in restful, fine, dignified life, and much else, apropos and apart—as you lay happy and contented on the long luxurious lounge beside my chair on the deep balcony, half listening to me and half to the soft continuous susurrus of the pine-fragrant breeze—that more than an hour elapsed while I drank my tea and read your letter....