Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

[inscription reads] " white, and leaves - / Mounting hill - sense of majesty - such a morning seemed never before to have existed. The slight valley becomes a gorge full of impenetrable mists - the sun a strange light - / At Grunplatz, a sense of wideness - the haze dimmed golden sunlight colored the trees softly, sending their pale shadows streaming over the tiny blue ice ponds into the bluer more purple wood depths - a crow cawed - it startled me with its beauty (for music is neither harmony nor abstract beauty of sound) it brought "