ROSES OF YESTERDAY 



yesterday. The dust of legions underneath our 

 feet gave the rose birth. No man smells its 

 perfume but he inhales in that sweet scent all 

 that poets have written of the flower, and all its 

 significance. 



" In a garden one dreams always ; the senses are 

 intoxicated, the world is shut away. Somewhere 

 on the other side of these walls and hedges a busy 

 world goes hurrying by. Here there is no hurry ; 

 Nature assists at countless weddings, at births and 

 deaths. And all is leisurely and ruled and orderly. 

 Underneath there goes on the fierce battle of life, 

 but so minute that we do not notice it. The 

 plantain preys upon the grass, the bindweed 

 throttles the rose with its tiny murderous fingers. 

 If this place were deserted for a year tall, dark 

 grass would choke the borders, weeds destroy the 

 more timid flowers, carnations would grow small 

 and wildly, roses would deteriorate. It is the 

 triumph of common, strong, hardy things against 

 the efforts of civilization, the people against the 

 over-civilized. There seems to be but one 

 civilization permanent and fine, a civilization 

 which affects us even to-day. 



" Go into the desert of the Sahara and see 



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