All the morning the child ran about his field, smelling the sweet,
tasting the sweet, plucking the bright and gay; and as he plucked and
smelled and tasted, he found among the strawberries a dusky leaf that
was bitter in his mouth. "What is this?" he asked of the Angel beside
him; and the Angel said, "It is wormwood!"
"Pluck it all up!" cried the child. "It is bitter and hateful; I will
have nought in my field but strawberries and roses."
And the Angel smiled, with folded hands.
Noon came, and afternoon, with long rays sloping westward; and the child
walked in his field with slow and thoughtful steps. There were no
flowers now in the grass, but everywhere a dusky leaf with dusky
berries; and the air was full of the fragrance of them, sweet and yet
bitter; bitter, yet oh, how sweet!
"What is this," the child asked, "that is bitter, and yet sweeter than
aught else in the world?"