... arms spectral against the deepening blue. Being so near I had not the heart to turn back. The hill was rough—a tangle of blackberry vines; here and there little paths started, only to end in nothing. After two or three false attempts I gave up the paths ...

... the hill The sheep are still. A robin sings in the hawthorn that leans so low, Bowed by the weight of its haws, and the blackberries show Delicate blossom, and fruit that'deepens from red Into the perfect black, and the» deep-thorned branches spread Traps ...