The spring, softened and acquiescent, with
her bees humming and gnats dancing threw
her cloak about her, veiled her eyes, averted
her head, and among passing shadows and
flights of small rain seemed to have taken
upon her a knowledge of the sorrows of
By Virginia Woolf
Sent in by a Voice reader in Surrey, whose eye was captured by it while out walking in Ham House grounds one spring day last month.