. In the forest of Arden. r- .) \< Ij. off with a meagre income; born free, ?we were servants of masters whoneither ate nor slept, that they mightnever for a second surrender theiroverseership. There are no clocks in Arden; thesun bestows the day, and no imperti-nence of men destroys its charm bycalculating its value and marking it witha price. The only computers of timeare the great trees whose shadowsregister the unbroken march of lightfrom east to west. Even the days andnights lost that painful distinctnesswhich they had for us when they gaveus a constant sense of loss, an incessantappre
. In the forest of Arden. r- .) \< Ij. off with a meagre income; born free, ?we were servants of masters whoneither ate nor slept, that they mightnever for a second surrender theiroverseership. There are no clocks in Arden; thesun bestows the day, and no imperti-nence of men destroys its charm bycalculating its value and marking it witha price. The only computers of timeare the great trees whose shadowsregister the unbroken march of lightfrom east to west. Even the days andnights lost that painful distinctnesswhich they had for us when they gaveus a constant sense of loss, an incessantapprehension of change and age. Theirshining procession leaves no suchrecords in Arden; they come like thewaves whose ceaseless flow sings of theboundless sea whence they come. Theybring no consciousness of ebbing yearsand joys and strength; they bring
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Keywords: ., bookauthormabieham, bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookyear1903
