THE STEM. 129 



short- coming, ill-blanched thorn hlossom going to be a 

 Rose, some day soon ; and, what next ? who knows ? 

 perhaps a Pseony ! 



3. Then this next branch, in dawn and delight of youth, 

 set with opening clusters of yet numerable blossom, four, 

 and five, and seven, edged, and islanded, and ended, by 

 the sharp leaves of freshest green, deepened under the 

 flowers, and studded round with bosses, better than pearl 

 beads of St. Agnes' rosary, folded, over and over, with 

 the edges of their little leaves pouting, as the very soft- 

 est waves do on flat sand where one meets another; then 

 opening just enough to show the violet colour within 

 which yet isn't violet colour, nor even " meno che le rose," 

 but a different colour from every other lilac that one ever 

 saw ; faint and faded even before it sees light, as the 

 filmy cup opens over the depth of it, then broken into 

 purple motes of tired bloom, fading into darkness, as the 

 cup extends into the perfect rose. 



This, with all its sweet change that one would so fain 

 stay, and soft effulgence of bud into softly falling flower, 

 one has watched how often ; but always with the feeling 

 that the blossoms are thrown over the green depth like 

 white clouds never with any idea of so much as asking 

 what holds the cloud there. Have each of the innumera- 

 ble blossoms a separate stalk ? and, if so, how is it that 

 one never thinks of the stalk, as one does with currants ? 



4. Turn the side of the branch to you ; Nature never 



meant you to see it so ; but now it is all stalk below, and 

 6* 



