Through south Westland, a journey to the Haast and Mount Aspiring, New Zealand . rms—new at least to our eyes—constantlyattracted the attention. What the forest lacksin brilliancy of flowers, it gains in its wonderfulvariety of form. Except the rat as and a redhoneysuckle, most of the flowers are white, orgreen and inconspicuous; but their perfumesare there, and every shade of green and gold andbrown. Between the tall shafts of the trees wecaught glimpses of a shining water, and we madeour way to the shore and sat there reflections were perfect: every leaf and twig,mountain summi
Through south Westland, a journey to the Haast and Mount Aspiring, New Zealand . rms—new at least to our eyes—constantlyattracted the attention. What the forest lacksin brilliancy of flowers, it gains in its wonderfulvariety of form. Except the rat as and a redhoneysuckle, most of the flowers are white, orgreen and inconspicuous; but their perfumesare there, and every shade of green and gold andbrown. Between the tall shafts of the trees wecaught glimpses of a shining water, and we madeour way to the shore and sat there reflections were perfect: every leaf and twig,mountain summit, and sunset cloud lay there, asin a great looking-glass. The snows of the distant Alps were flushing rosy-pink above the dark hills, clothed always to theirtops with trees. And as we sat and watched,the water at our feet became golden with thereflection of the rosy cloudlets floating in like the inside of a pearl-shell, blendedand faded, and the evening mists crept over all,and we turned back down the darkening forestaisles. And as we went, the moonlight laid. WATERS OF WESTLAND. 25 black bars across the road, and touched the giantferns with silver, and every sound was it was at Lake Ianthe the enchantedforest world began to speak to us, and bid usunderstand ? We heard we should have a forty-two mile ridenext day, because the next stopping-place wasoccupied by a party of bridge-builders, and therewas no room for ladies. So we made an earlystart—only those who have ridden out thus intothe forest in the freshness of early morning, canknow anything of its perfect beauty. It is adifferent beauty from the glory of noon-day, orwhen the evening shadows fall: it seems to cryaloud and sing for joy. The tuis and the bell-birds were calling with those notes that, for me atleast, have far more music than the nightingales—no bird, unless perhaps the bul-bul, has any noteslike them. I only asked to go on and on: giveme more, ever more, of these sights and s
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, bookpublisherlondo, bookyear1911
