2013年5月24日星期五
ArticleTitle#5234
"I should like to go out into the world for once," said one;
"but here at home among our green leaves it is beautiful too. The
whole day long the sun shines bright and warm, and in the night the
sky shines more beautifully still; we can see that through all the
little holes in it."
They meant the stars, but they knew no better.
"We make it lively about the house," said the sparrow-mother; "and
people say that a swallows' nest brings luck; so they are glad of
us. But such neighbours as ours! A rose-bush on the wall like that
causes damp. I daresay it will be taken away; then we shall,
perhaps, have some corn growing here. The roses are good for nothing
but to be looked at and to be smelt, or at most to be stuck in a
hat. Every year, as I have been told by my mother, they fall off.
The farmer's wife preserves them and strews salt among them; then they
get a French name which I neither can pronounce nor care to, and are
put into the fire to make a nice smell. You see, that's their life;
they exist only for the eye and the nose. Now you know."
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