94 A GARDEN OF PLEASURE 



listen and watch in vain. Sometimes 

 some thrush singing notes of unwonted 

 fire and sweetness will for a moment deceive 

 the ear : this has happened once or twice. 

 But when indeed the nightingale sings, 

 he is never mistaken for a thrush. What 

 alas ! is the mysterious cause of our loss ? 

 We are fain to hope it may be the cold 

 winds of May and April ; because there are 

 no glowworms ; or because there is so little 

 oak about the place. (Oak scrub must this 

 autumn be planted somewhere.) Anything 

 is better to believe than the ugly reason 

 of bird-stealers. Whatever the reason be 



4 Such change, and at the very door 

 Of my fond heart, hath made me poor/ 



Of a winter garden it is easy enough to 

 write. But in June ! the garden in mid- 

 summer ! Out of the fulness of it how is 

 choice to be made of one bright flower for 

 praise more than another ? It is a world of 

 surpassing beauty. This morning, in the 

 still shade of a south window, one small 

 petal dropped upon the window-sill from 

 a flowery branch of cotoneaster (Good 

 Neighbour). One is seldom present just at 



