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Updated: June 20, 2025
The smallest leaf hummed with the rest, the fox stopped in the middle of eating a fat chicken and beat time with his brush, the wind blew through the branches and played an organ accompaniment to the song of the wood: "Merrier meeting was never yet Than the festal wood discloses, When wood-ruff nestles by violet In a cluster of sweet wild roses.
Even in my gladness I am awed. To-day I have walked far, and at the end of my walk I found the little white-flowered wood-ruff. It grew in a copse of young ash. When I had looked long at the flower, I delighted myself with the grace of the slim trees about it their shining smoothness, their olive hue.
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