CHAPTER XXII 



ROSES OF YESTERDAY 



«' Each morn a thousand Roses brings, you say ; 

 Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday ?" 



- Rubaifat of Omar Khayyam, translated by Edward Fitzgerald, I 858. 



HE answer can be given the 

 Persian poet that the Rose of 

 Yesterday leaves again in the 

 heart. The subtle fragrance of 

 a Rose can readily conjure in 

 our minds a dream of summers 

 past, and happy summers to 

 come. Many a flower lover since 

 Chaucer has felt as did the poet : — 



"The savour of the Roses swote 

 Me smote right to the herte rote." 



The old-time Roses possess most fully this hid- 

 den power. Sweetest of all was the old Cabbage 

 Rose — called by some the Provence Rose — for its 

 perfume " to be chronicled and chronicled, and cut 

 and chronicled, and all-to-be-praised." Its odor is 

 perfection ; it is the standard by which I compare all 

 other fragrances. It is not too strong nor too cloy- 

 ing, as are some Rose scents; it is the idealization of 

 that distinctive sweetness of the Rose family which 



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