the next place, they look tame; in the third place, they look very
ugly. I had not learned then to honour them on the ground that they
yield not a jot to the adversity of their circumstances; that, if
they must be pollards, they still will be trees; and what they may
not do with grace, they will yet do with bounty; that, in short,
their life bursts forth, despite of all that is done to repress and
destroy their individuality. When you have once learned to honour
anything, love is not very far off; at least that has always been my
experience. But, as I have said, I had not yet learned to honour
pollards, and therefore they made me more miserable than I was
already.

When, having followed the road, I stood at last on the bridge, and,
looking up and down the river through the misty air, saw two long
rows of these pollards diminishing till they vanished in both
directions, the sight of them took from me all power of enjoying the
water beneath me, the green fields around me, or even the old-world
beauty of the little bridge upon which I stood, although all sorts
of bridges have been from very infancy a delight to me. For I am one
of those who never get rid of their infantile predilections, and to
have once enjoyed making a mud bridge, was to enjoy all bridges for
ever.

I saw a man in a white smock-frock coming along the road beyond, but
I turned my back to the road, leaned my arms on the parapet of the
bridge, and stood gazing where I saw no visions, namely, at those
very poplars. I heard the man's footsteps coming up the crown of the
arch, but I would not turn to greet him. I was in a selfish humour
if ever I was; for surely if ever one man ought to greet another, it
was upon such a comfortless afternoon. The footsteps stopped behind