. . . Oh that beloved witch-hazel which would not reach me till part of the stems were a gentle brown, though one loved stalk as hearty as if just placed in the mail by the woods. It looked like tinsel fringe combined with staider fringes, witch and witching too, to my joyful mind.
I never had seen it but once before, and it haunted me like childhood's Indian pipe, or ecstatic puff-balls, or that mysterious apple that sometimes comes on river-pinks; and is there not a dim suggestion of a dandelion, if her hair were ravelled and she grew on a twig instead of a tube, - though this is timidly submitted. For taking Nature's hand to lead her to me, I am softly grateful - was she willing to come? Though her reluctances are sweeter than other ones' avowals.
Trusty as the starsLove for the cousin sisters, and the lovely alien. . . .