54 MY GARDEN 



sunshiny group to another inhaling the ineffable wet- 

 earth-and-sun perfume which is their birthright, quite 

 forgetting to tell of the best varieties and how to grow 

 them. When down in the garden sweet Daffodil 

 "unties her yellow bonnet," it is a "time o' dreams" 

 Cherry Blossoms cast their pale shadow; Peach trees 

 fling pink spray against the garden wall; Japanese 

 Quince makes a hot splash against the cold stone. Early 

 Tulips proudly lead one up and down the garden paths 

 displaying here a snowy drift of Arabis, there a purple 

 trail of Aubrietia, and here again a mound of green-gold 

 Alyssum and disappear beneath the scented skirts of 

 the flowering Currant or march in prim, upstanding 

 array in the shadow of a scarlet-budded Crabapple. A 

 thousand delights are spread before us, but wonder of 

 wonders is that nodding horde of Daffodils, all up and 

 down the borders, under the trees, beside the paths, 

 shining with the sunshine, gleaming with the gentle 

 rain, restless with the attentive wind. It was Mahamet 

 who said more than a thousand years ago, "He that 

 hath two cakes of bread, let him sell one of them and buy 

 Narcissus, for bread is food for the body but Narcissus 

 is food for the soul." And verily it is true food for the 

 soul and delight for the eyes, these gleaming things lying 

 like patches of light among the fallen Cherry Blossoms, 

 glorifying the brown earth, and lifting the most sodden 

 into a rarer atmosphere. Daffodil time is the very height 

 of spring, the epitome of springing youth and hope. 



