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THE MORN OF A THOUSAND ROSES 



'I sing of Brooks, of Blossoms, Birds and Bowers; 

 Of April, May, of June and July Flowers. . . . 

 I sing of Times trans-shifting; and I write / 

 How Roses first came Red, and Lillies White. 



(Herrick, Hesperides.) 



AND SO, though we may not indeed all be Herricks, we 

 may surely all sing of brooks and blossoms, birds and 

 bowers, — may in sooth, like Herrick, live the gospel 

 of out-doors, and seek why the rose is red, why white the lily. 

 And had I all the flowers that heart could wish, I think that 

 I should still divide them into only two classes: "Roses," 

 and " Not-Roses. " There is such a glorious largess about the 

 first spring bounty, such a sweet and colourful assurance 

 in each succeeding month, and such a trustful audacity in 

 the buds which dare the very frosts of winter! \ 



And nothing neatly prim about Miss Rosa. White she 

 can be. White as a bride for Purity; or Red, red as Love. 

 Pink she can be, Pink as Beauty, Pink as the very pink 

 of Mercutio's Courtesy or Yellow, yellow as "Jealousy, 

 the jaundice of the Soul." Nor coward she, supine and 



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