122 A WHITE-PAPER GARDEN 



the shadow of Fusi Yami falls into blue 

 water as its white crown rises into the blue 

 ether, ladies, like fine netsukis, walk with 

 hushed delight through the iris fields ! No 

 wonder that plain country housewives, who 

 have little time to care for mere beauty, still 

 cling loyally to the bunches of "blue flags," 

 with falls of royal purple, and wings of deli- 

 cate azure. May is iris month ; but it is in 

 June that we must go to the marshes planted 

 not for us, but because 



" Other eyes than ours 

 Are made to look on flowers, 

 Eyes of small birds and insects small, 

 The deep sun-blushing rose 

 Around which the prickles close 

 Opens her bosom to them all, 

 The tiniest living thing 

 That soars on feathered wing 

 Or crawls among the long grass out of sight 

 Has just as good a right 

 To its appointed portion of delight 

 As any king." 



It is hemmed in by ferny thickets under 

 oaks and pines, where club mosses and part- 

 ridge berries grow, and where there are white 

 waxen bells of winter-green and pipsissiwa. 

 Marsh roses lean over the peaty, sedge-green 



