VIII. THE STEM. 1 43 



— frock with some little spotty pattern on it to 

 keep it from showing an unintended and inadvertent 

 spot- — if Fate should ever inflict such a thing ! 

 Undeveloped, thinks Mr. Darwin, — the poor short- 

 coming, ill-blanched thorn blossom — 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 

 softest 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 



