ROSE-TIME 73 



Rose-time? Certainly the burden of proof lies on him who 

 would gainsay such a supposition; and, subjectively, at any 

 rate, we maintain it, exult in it, multiply our transports by it, 

 and do not fear to climb even one notch higher and affirm that 

 Rose-time to the rose-lover represents nature and Hfe — and 

 man as the fusion of both — developed to his highest and 

 noblest level. 



But come! Enough of metaphysics! The actual rose-garden 

 is crying to us w^ith vibrant voice. The genial sunshine draws 

 us out of our meditative mood and outdoors with irresistible 

 seductiveness. The soft grass and miniature gravel-paths 

 whisper beneath our feet. Birds leap with indignant chirp from 

 the laden bushes which, without doubt, they believe their very 

 own and almost dispute with us; or, in farther reaches of the 

 garden, gossip and chuckle over the direction our clumsy 

 locomotive facihties are hkely to take us. The full blaze of the 

 plants is suspended like a strip of sunset let down to dangle its 

 glamours within a few inches of our eyes. The scents of the place 

 are poignant by reason of their subtlety, rare and precious 

 because of their very incontinence. And in our hearts, snuggling 

 like a confiding child, is that divinest reaction of beauty — Peace. 



But the rose-garden calls for ungrudging reciprocity on one's 

 own part. This lavish blooming demands lavish requital. You 

 too must bloom, you too must expand and sing. Dean Hole, 

 the rosarian of beloved memory, once said: "He who would 

 have beautiful roses in his garden must have beautiful roses i?i 

 his heart. He must love them well and always." These roses 

 are yours and the}^ know it, know your moods, commune with 

 you, dance with you, reflect with you. But always their gay 

 zestfulness stimulates; you cannot wilt! Infallibly they hold 

 you to your best self. 



For it was, of course, your best self that you planted here; 

 your cleanest aspirations that 3^ou so carefully nurtured; your 

 least worldly impulses that you watched sprout, bud, and 

 flower; and it is now your ripest and truest self-expression that 

 pulses and surges about you in these living hearts of beauty. 

 "Grow your own roses," that laconic advice of one of the most 

 distinguished rose-growers of the world, Admiral Aaron Ward 

 — a phrase which might well stand as the text and inspiration 



