98 A WHITE-PAPER GARDEN 



the long nap which should last until another 

 April came dancing over the fields. The 

 young browns and greens of the forest trees 

 stand out in glad contrast to the bloom by 

 which the peach boughs call the bees in a 

 thousand tones of the colour which is not blue, 

 nor crimson, nor pink, nor lilac but peach 

 blow ! There are cherries and pears beyond 

 the garden gate, but of the apples there were 

 aisles and tents, all heavy with blossoms and 

 murmurous with bees. Could the body, uplifted, 

 sanctified, ask for a lordlier pleasure house 

 than this ? Oh, to be this night in that true 

 Paradise, that old orchard, where the apple- 

 trees are blooming and where it is always 

 May ! Oh, to see once more, and to hear once 

 more, and to touch once more that which 

 comes back, with the single bough of young 

 bloom which is all the May bloom that is 

 mine ! 



" Soft on thy lips I lay this tender kiss 

 My cheek I press against thy breast of snow 

 Who bringst me back the wonder and the bliss 

 I knew in an old orchard, long ago I " 



There can be no task of importance great 

 enough to be rightly bartered for one of the 



