77 



Truly, this garden needs a guide-book it 

 is so delightfully unmethodical, so full of 

 curious things. Black Daphne knows it by 

 heart. For the most part it is of her plant- 

 ing. That is why you see white lilac plumes 

 atoss quite in middle of a clear, sunlit space. 

 She loves the flower, and had no mind that 

 it should be dwarfed or starved by rougher, 

 more robust growths. Purple lilac ; pinky, 

 flowering almond, as daintily artificial as a 

 Dresden-China shepherdess; stubbly scar- 

 let pomegranate ; big, overgrown, conceited 

 snowball she has massed all together at 

 one side, to struggle as they will for existence. 



She is tender of sweet-scented things. 

 Calycanthus stands full and fair in the 

 onion beds' middle. Honeysuckles red, 

 pink, yellow, white wave, garland - wise, 

 each in its separate place, afar from other 

 root. So, too, do the roses all June's 

 hardy myriad. Now they are but tangles 

 of green, small buds, with no hint of color 

 save the Scotch rose, whose gold peeps 

 warily even thus early through its green 

 sheath. A little while, and you shall see it 

 yellow as the sunshine's self, with sweet, 

 short - stemmed flowers. And still a little 

 later the winds shall rock, the bee drowse 

 through. Hundred -leaf velvet, thornless 



