160 Old Time Gardens 



I have written of the gladness of spring, but I know 

 nothing more overwhelming than the heartache of 

 spring, the sadness of a fresh-growing spring garden. 

 Where is the dear one who planted it and loved it, 

 and he who helped her in the care, and the loving 

 child who played in it and left it in the springtime ? 

 All that is good and beautiful has come again to us 

 with the sunlight and warmth, save those whom we 

 still love but can see no more. By that very meas- 

 ure of happiness poured for us in childhood in Lilac 

 tide, is our cup of sadness now filled. 



