The Garden Gate 



the garden gate the one green thing to 

 greet us there each year is the never- 

 failing Iris. In Greek mythology the 

 name was borne by the swift messenger 

 whose service rendered Juno was 

 identical with that of Mercury to 

 Jupiter and her flight as she did the 

 bidding of the goddess queen was 

 marked by the rainbow in the heavens. 

 Our modern Iris waits not, however, 

 the appearance of April showers, but 

 rises like the crocus from its bed of 

 snow, bringing to a waiting world the 

 welcome message that the spring is 

 here. Fleur-de-lis, native lily of the 

 low-lands, the improved varieties of 

 Iris, both Japanese and German, pro- 

 duce their feathery plumes of gold 

 and purple while yet their tardy sisters 

 sleep. 



A few real native bluebells make 

 their home underneath the oaks, put- 

 ting out their pale blue pinkish blos- 

 soms, and departing before the trees 

 above them waken from their slumbers. 

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