. In the forest of Arden. masses of cloud that never faded off thehorizon. There were benignant pres-ences in our rooms visible to no eyesbut ours; for our Arden friends didnot forsake us. There were memoriesbetween us which made all our daysbeautiful with the consciousness ofimmortal faith and love; there werehopes which^ like celestial beings^ lookedupon us with eyes deep with unspeak-able prophecy as they waited at thedoors of the future. It is an autumn afternoon, and thesun lies warm on the ripening vines thatcover the wall, and on the late flowersthat bloom by the roadside. As I writethe
. In the forest of Arden. masses of cloud that never faded off thehorizon. There were benignant pres-ences in our rooms visible to no eyesbut ours; for our Arden friends didnot forsake us. There were memoriesbetween us which made all our daysbeautiful with the consciousness ofimmortal faith and love; there werehopes which^ like celestial beings^ lookedupon us with eyes deep with unspeak-able prophecy as they waited at thedoors of the future. It is an autumn afternoon, and thesun lies warm on the ripening vines thatcover the wall, and on the late flowersthat bloom by the roadside. As I writethese words I look up from my portfolio,and Rosalind sits there, work in hand,smiling at me over her flying glance rests on her a moment, anda strange uncertainty comes over I really been in Arden, or have I.
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Keywords: ., bookauthormabieham, bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookyear1903
