By May，the nightingale will sing an unbroken song，and the discreet，barely audible Tuscan cuckoo will be a little more audible.Then the lovely pale-lilac irises will come out in all their showering abundance of tender，proud，spiky bloom，till the air will gleam with mauve，and a new crystalline lightness will be everywhere.
There will be tufts of irises everywhere，arising up proud and tender.When the rose-coloured wild gladiolus is mingled in the corn，and the love-in-the-mist opens blue：in May and June，before the corn is cut.But as yet is neither May norJune，but the end of April，the pause between spring and summer，the nightingale singing uninterrupted，the bean-flowers dying in the bean-fields，the bean-perfume passing with spring，the little birds hatching in the nests，the olives pruned，and the vines，the last bit of late ploughing finished，and not much work to hand，now，not until the peas are ready to pick，in another two weeks or so.
