Every variety of grass--and they are many--has its own colour, and every
blade of every variety has its individual variations of that colour. The
rain falls, and there is a darker tint at large upon the field, fresh
but darker; the sun shines and at first the hue is lighter, but
presently if the heat last a brown comes. The wind blows, and
immediately as the waves of grass roll across the meadow a paler tint
follows it.

A clouded sky dulls the herbage, a cloudless heaven brightens it, so
that the grass almost reflects the firmament like water. At sunset the
rosy rays bring out every tint of red or purple. At noonday, watch as
alternate shadow and sunshine come one after the other as the clouds are
wafted over. By moonlight perhaps the white ox-eyed daisies show the
most. But never will you find the mowing grass in the same field looking
twice alike.

Come again the day after to-morrow only, and there is a change; some of
the grass is riper, some is thicker, with further blades which have
pushed up, some browner. Cold northern winds cause it to wear a dry,
withered aspect; under warm showers it visibly opens itself; in a
hurricane it tosses itself wildly to and fro; it laughs under the
sunshine.

There are thick bunches by the footpath, which hang over and brush the
feet. While approaching there seems nothing there except grass, but in
the act of passing, and thus looking straight down into them, there are
blue eyes at the bottom gazing up. These specks of blue sky hidden in
the grass tempt the hand to gather them, but then you cannot gather the
whole field.