XX 



A WHITE-PAPER GARDEN 



ferns on a window ledge, or to the fairy graces 

 of a saucerful of bluets. The garden that 

 might serve for the days when the fair maids 

 of February walk through the snows ringing 

 their green and silver bells may well be too 

 small to content me when roses bloom. But 

 what of that ? 



The Indians divided their year into moons, 

 calling each by a word full of meaning. Moons 

 will divide my garden also, since moons reign 

 when dreams are abroad. 



There are fields in dreamland which I may 

 annex without the fear of the curse which pro- 

 tects my neighbour's landmark. There are 

 cloudy hillsides which I can see from my 

 window, to which no one has a better right 

 than I. My seeds and roots shall be the 

 things I remember ; my flowers and fruits 

 the words which others have spoken, by voice, 

 or pen, or brush. Little vistas shall open into 

 unsuspected and unrelated regions, and there 

 shall be deep breathings whose coming and 



