PART III
WESTWARD VISTA
The half-sunk sun
Burns through the dusty-crimson sky;
Streamers of gold and green soar
In radiating splendor, like the spokes
Of God's unmeasurable chariot-wheels
Half-hid and vanishing.
Around me is coolness, ripeness and repose;
The smell of gathered grain and fruits,
And the musky breath of melons fills the air.
The very dust is fruity, and the click
Of locusts' wings is like the close
Of gates upon great stores of wheat.
The gathered barley bleaches in shock,
The corn breathes on me from the west,
And the sky-line widens on and on
Until I see the waves of yellow-green
Break on the hills that face the snow and lilac peaks
Of Colorado's mountains.
CHAPTER I
At first Clement's happiness had no further base of uneasiness than the lover's fear of loss. It all seemed too good to be true, and he had a hidden fear that something might happen to set him back where he was before she came. It was quite like his feeling about his mine—it took him a certain length of time before he ceased to dream of its sudden loss, and now it seemed (when absent from her) that it would be easy for something to rob him of this love which was his life.
This feeling was mixed, too, with a feeling of his unworthiness, which deepened the more closely he studied her. She was so free from all bruise and stain of life's battle. There were no questionable places in her life. Could he say as much?