CHAPTER XXII 



ROSES OF YESTERDAY 



" Each morn a thousand Roses brings, you say ; 

 Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday ?" 



Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, translated by EDWARD FITZGERALD, 1858. 



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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