parsnip, reached already high above both, and would rear its fluted
stalk, joint on joint, till it could face a man. Trees they were
to the lesser birds, not even bending if perched on; but though so
stout, the birds did not place their nests on or against them.
Something in the odour of these umbelliferous plants, perhaps, is
not quite liked; if brushed or bruised they give out a bitter
greenish scent. Under their cover, well shaded and hidden, birds
build, but not against or on the stems, though they will affix
their nests to much less certain supports. With the grasses that
overhung the edge, with the rushes in the ditch itself, and these
great plants on the mound, the whole hedge was wrapped and
thickened. No cunning of glance could see through it; it would
have needed a ladder to help any one look over.

It was between the may and the June roses. The may bloom had
fallen, and among the hawthorn boughs were the little green bunches
that would feed the red-wings in autumn. High up the briars had
climbed, straight and towering while there was a thorn or an ash
sapling, or a yellow-green willow, to uphold them, and then curving
over towards the meadow. The buds were on them, but not yet open;
it was between the may and the rose.

As the wind, wandering over the sea, takes from each wave an
invisible portion, and brings to those on shore the ethereal
essence of ocean, so the air lingering among the wood and hedges -
green waves and billows - became full of fine atoms of summer.
Swept from notched hawthorn leaves, broad-topped oak-leaves, narrow
ash sprays and oval willows; from vast elm cliffs and sharp-taloned
brambles under; brushed from the waving grasses and stiffening
corn, the dust of the sunshine was borne along and breathed.