abbits play in the glades,
and in unison with a host of fellow-creatures singing a welcome to the
dawn. When it is time for him to think of home and he comes once more
beneath a doorway, he has a mind refreshed by the quietude of dim space,
and a heart replenished with innocence and good-will. He who so sleeps
hates no man, and will go upon the dullest way free from petulance or
despair. The scent of the rich earth is in his nostrils, and the
clearness of morning air has passed into his eyes.

I have made my lair in many places since I first kept house with Nature.
I have couched in heather by the pines of hills far above the Sussex
Weald; I have lain in dry furrows or on the margin of a copse, or in the
parks of the children of fortune, for whose welfare, in gratitude for
their unconscious hospitality, I shall ever pray. But of all wild
resting-places I have known, the openest are the most delightful. To see
the whole sweep of the stars; to lie on the shorn ground free of all
that overshadows or encompasses or confines; to breathe in the great
gulf of air; to stretch unhindered limbs--this is an initiation into a
new life, a pleasant memory in the long glooms of winter. Let nothing
come between you and the stars, that they may look well upon your face,
and haply repenting of some ancient unkindliness, draw you at this
rebirth a new horoscope of blessing and fair fortune. And if slumber
tarries when you lie in an open spot, you may consciously ride the great
globe through space, and like the shepherd watching by his flock in the
clear night while star rises after star, grow aware of the great earth
rolling to the east beneath you.

In these still hours of night or early dawn there steals upon the
charmed mind an Orphic sense of worship and inexplicable joy. For here
on bare uplands and wooded hills, where the starlight rains down through
the silence, or the day, welling up over the rim of the downs, glides
fresh from the lips of ocean, a calm river of light, here is the place
of Dionysus, of him born from fire and dew, Zagreus the soul of clean
souls and wild lives, his heart a-quiver with vague sadness drawn from
all the worlds, Eleutherios, loosener of heart and lip, the regenerator,
the absolver, the eternally misunderstood, whose true followers are
priests of impassioned pure life, whose wine is not juice of grapes but
the clear air ambient upon the hills. Here when sleep is shamed away by
expectant awe, the whole