summer noon
Yesterday , she told herself , it was a deep , but well-controlled and respectable little stream . To-day it was a flood . `` I must keep my feet , '' she thought ; `` I must not be swept away ! '' The thought of him was sometimes overwhelming , like the fire of a summer noon ; sometimes meditative , and wound about with memories , like twilight , and the song of the thrush ; even at its least , it had been the glow that lives behind the northern horizon in midsummer , witnessing to the hidden glory , during darkness , or the wistful glimmer of stars . Now , while the sun went higher , and all the hum of life rose , and the cries of the water-birds , the buzz of insects over the bright lake , became more insistent , and the blue and lovely morning spread and strengthened round her , criticism and analysis failed . She could only think of him , helplessly , saying to herself what she had once heard a peasant woman say : `` My heart 'd open when I thinks of him . '' Across the park came repeated notes from the horn , the baying of hounds , and the screams that celebrate with orthodox excitement the death of a fox .