A CURIOUS quality of flowers is that whichever 

 one you are talking about, planting, or holding 

 in your hand, that flower for the time being seems 

 the sweetest in the world. 



When I was writing of roses at such happy length 

 I thought, " Surely this is the loveliest of all sub- 

 jects," yet here I am thinking the same of bulbs, 

 and I haven't the decency to even feel disloyal or 

 fickle. 



When we plant the bulbs in autumn we are a bit 

 gorged with the fanfare of annuals and perennials, 

 and it's such an utter change to turn the thoughts 

 to crocuses and hyacinths. 



Then later on, in March, when the mind is thaw- 

 ing after winter chill, we are so flower hungry and 

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