CHRYSANTHEMUMS 

 that recognizes them and has learned to 

 love them perceives, at the first pleased 

 glance, that they have actively and du- 

 tifully continued to evolve towards their 

 uncertain ideal. Go back for a moment 

 to their modest origin: look at the poor 

 buttercup of yore, the humble little 

 crimson or damask rose that still smiles 

 sadly, along the roads full of dead 

 leaves, in the scanty garden-patches 

 of our villages; compare with them 

 these enormous masses and fleeces of 

 snow, these disks and globes of red 

 copper, these spheres of old silver, 

 these trophies of alabaster and ame- 

 thyst, this delirious prodigy of petals 

 which seems to be trying to exhaust 

 to its last riddle the world of autumnal 

 C 89 n 



