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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
138
Thursday,
6th
May.--A
sweet
morning.
We
have
put
the
finishing
stroke
to
our
bower,
and
here
we
are
sitting
in
the
orchard.
It
is
one
o'clock.
We
are
sitting
upon
a
seat
under
the
wall,
which
I
found
my
brother
building
up,
when
I
came
to
him....
He
had
intended
that
it
should
have
been
done
before
I
came.
It
is
a
nice,
cool,
shady
spot.
The
small
birds
are
singing,
lambs
bleating,
cuckoos
calling,
the
thrush
sings
by
fits,
Thomas
Ashburner's
axe
is
going
quietly
(without
passion)
in
the
orchard,
hens
are
cackling,
flies
humming,
the
women
talking
together
at
their
doors,
plum
and
pear
trees
are
in
blossom--apple
trees
greenish--the
opposite
woods
green,
the
crows
are
cawing,
we
have
heard
ravens,
the
ash
trees
are
in
blossom,
birds
flying
all
about
us,
the
stitchwort
is
coming
out,
there
is
one
budding
lychnis,
the
primroses
are
passing
their
prime,
celandine,
violets,
and
wood
sorrel
for
ever
more,
little
geraniums
and
pansies
on
the
wall.
We
walked
in
the
evening
to
Tail
End,
to
inquire
about
hurdles
for
the
orchard
shed....
When
we
came
in
we
found
a
magazine,
and
review,
and
a
letter
from
Coleridge,
verses
to
Hartley,
and
Sara
H.
We
read
the
review,
etc.
The
moon
was
a
perfect
boat,
a
silver
boat,
when
we
were
out
in
the
evening.
The
birch
tree
is
all
over
green
in
small
leaf,
more
light
and
elegant
than
when
it
is
full
out.
It
bent
to
the
breezes,
as
if
for
the
love
of
its
own
delightful
motions.
Sloe-thorns
and
hawthorns
in
the
hedges.
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