The Dewy Morn by Richard Jefferies

The sun had now grown fierce, and Felise, rising from the ground, walked along the hill, whose summit gradually declined. These hills of chalk are generally very steep in front, and laborious to ascend if attempted there; but at the rear they are much easier, and present no difficulty. In this they resemble human life, for the aspiring, whether in letters, politics, or commerce, find the utmost trouble in climbing up the precipitous frowning brow which defends the prize; but once on the top, sigh to observe that the back of the position, which was hidden from them, could have been easily ascended, and that after all they are only elevated in a trifling degree above their neighbours.

Immediately beneath the hill was a field of clover, and beyond that wheat; next came a large wood, extending round the hill to the left: a brightly-gleaming stream ran into and was lost in the shade of the wood. To the right were meadows, reaching as far as the eye could see through the crowded trees in the hedgerows. Among these Felise recognised her home, a mile or more distant, the roof and chimneys only visible above the foliage. The line of the sea appeared where another ridge of hill stooped, and rose again. It was five miles to the shore.