MIDSUMMER 



are surrounded by symmetrical circles of lance- Meadow- 

 shaped leaves and crowned with long-stemmed, ty 

 nodding-, recurved lilies; lilies so bell-like and 

 tremulous that such a meadow always suggests 

 to me possibilities of tinkling music too ethereal 

 for mortal ears. Usually these flowers are yel- 

 low, thickly spotted with brown, but this year 

 I find them of the deepest shade of orange. With- 

 in the flower-cup the stamens are heavily loaded 

 with brown pollen. 



When with rhythmical sweep of his long scythe 

 the mower lays low whole acres of lilies and clo- 

 ver, milkweeds, daisies, and buttercups, there is a 

 tendency to bewail such a massacre of the flowers. 

 But, after all, this is no purposeless destruction. "Lovely 

 As the dead blossoms lie heaped one upon another a pi easan t> 

 in the blazing sunlight, their sweetness is scat- 

 tered abroad with every breath of wind. As we 

 rest among the fragrant mounds we are still sub- 

 ject to their pervading influence. They " were 

 lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their 

 death they were not divided." 



But it is not the sentimentalist only who be- 

 grudges every flower that is picked without pur- 

 pose, to be thrown aside, a repulsive, disfigured Tbepur- 

 object, a few moments later. Certainly it seems flwer- 

 unintelligent, if not wasteful and irreverent, to be P tcker 

 possessed with an irresistible desire wantonly to 



131 



