“This is lovely,” said Lucy to herlf. It was cool and fresh, delicious smells were floating everywhere. Somewhere clo by she heard the twitter of a nightingale beginning to sing, then stopping, then beginning again. It was a little lighter ahead. She went toward the light and came to a place where there were fewer trees, and whole patches or pools of moonlight, but the moonlight and the shadows so mixed that you could hardly be sure where anything was or what it was. At the same moment the nightingale, satisfied at last with his tuning up, burst into full song.
Lucy’s eyes began to grow aced to the light, and she saw the trees that were her more distinctly. A great longing for the old days wherees could talk in Narnia came over her. She kly how each of the trees would talk if only she could wake them, and what sort of human form it would put on. She looked at a silver birch：it would have a soft, showery void would look like a slender girl, with hair blown all about her face, and fond of dang. She looked at the oak：he would be a wizened, but hearty old man with a frizzled beard and warts on his fad hands, and hair growing out of the warts. She looked at the beeder which she was standing. Ah！—she would be the best of all. She would be a gracious goddess, smooth and stately, the lady of the wood.
“Oh Trees, Trees, Trees,” said Lucy （though she had not been intending to speak at all）. “Oh Trees, wake, wake, wake. Don’t you remember it? Don’t you remember me? Dryads and Hamadryads, e out, e to me.”
Though there was not a breath of wind they all stirred about her. The rustling noi of the leaves was almost like words. The nightiopped singing as if to listen to it. Lucy felt that at any moment she would begin to uand what the trees were trying to say. But the moment did not e. The rustling died away. The nightingale resumed its song. Even in the moonlight the wood looked more ordinary agai Lucy had the feeling （as you sometimes have when you are trying to remember a name or a date and almost get it, but it vanishes before you really do） that she had just misd something：as if she had spoken to the trees a split d too soon or a split d too late, or ud all the right words except one, or put in one word that was just wrong.
Quite suddenly she began to feel tired. She went back to the bivouauggled dowween Susan aer, and was asleep in a few minutes.
It was a cold and cheerless waking for them all m, with a gray twilight in the wood （for the sun had not yet rin） and everything damp and dirty.