The Blue Flower Border 273 



we are constantly hearing folks speak of the lack 

 of the color blue among wild flowers, which always 

 surprises me ; I suppose I see blue because I love 

 blue. In pure cobalt tint it is rare ; in compensa- 

 tion, when it does abound, it makes a permanent 

 imprint on our vision, which never vanishes. Re- 

 calling in midwinter the expanses of color in sum- 

 mer waysides, I do not see them white with Daisies, 

 or yellow with Goldenrod, but they are in my mind's 

 vision brightly, beautifully blue. One special scene 

 is the blue of Fringed Gentians, on a sunny October 

 day, on a rocky hill road in Royalston, Massachu- 

 setts, where they sprung up, wide open, a solid mass 

 of blue, from stone wall to stone wall, with scarcely 

 a wheel rut showing among them. Even thus, grow- 

 ing in as lavish abundance as any weed, the Fringed 

 Gentian still preserved in collective expanse, its deli- 

 cate, its distinctly aristocratic bearing. 

 Bryant asserts of this flower : 



"Thou waitest late, and com'st alone 



When woods are bare, and birds are flown." 



But by this roadside the woods were far from bare. 

 Many Asters, especially the variety I call Michael- 

 mas Daisies, Goldenrod, Butter-and-eggs, Turtle 

 Head, and other flowers, were in ample bloom. 

 And the same conditions of varied flower com- 

 panionship existed when I saw the Fringed Gentian 

 blooming near Bryant's own home at Cummington. 

 Another vast field of blue, ever living in my 

 memory, was that of the Viper's Bugloss, which I 



