OLD-FASHIONED FLOWERS 



distils perfumes that give us a foretaste 

 of the air which we breathe on the 

 threshold of Paradise./rhe Peonies, 

 who have drunk their imprudent fill 

 of the sun, burst with enthusiasm and 

 bend forward to meet the coming apo- 

 plexy. The Scarlet Flax traces a blood- 

 stained furrow that guards the walks ; 

 and the Portulaca, creeping like a moss, 

 studies to cover with mauve, amber or 

 pink taffeta the soil that has remained 

 bare at the foot of the tall stalks. The 

 chub-faced Dahlia, a little round, a little 

 stupid, carves out of soap, lard or wax 

 his regular pompons, which will be the 

 ornament of a village holiday. The old, 

 paternal Phlox, standing amid the clus- 

 ters, lavishes the loud laughter of his 

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