DAYS IN MY GARDEN 



No ! it is not alone to our own little hedged plot- 

 that world where we are free to do just as we like, 

 where every blade is ours, where much happiness 

 can be grown, and many sorrows buried, that I 

 would take my ' gentle reader ' (an old expression but 

 a happy one). I would lead him further on, and into 

 my garden which knows no hedge nor bounds, no 

 fence nor wall, away over the wooded fields and along 

 the lanes, the rolling downs and sunlit hills, to where 

 happy, babbling brook with mossy bank and poly- 

 podded stub, joins the flowing river and ripples on 

 a silver gleam to open sea of liquid blue ; nay even 

 further, and on yon distant shore drink deeply of the 

 beauties there displayed. 



For while we have eyes, none can deny us the joy 

 of all earth's coloured charms, and we can roam from 

 where the daisies at our feet stretch out to sunlit hills, 

 and on to where the lights of palest blue horizon meet 

 the span of heaven and melt beyond in brightness. 



Come then, let us wander down the leafy ways and 

 smell the new-mown hay, pluck the frail and fragrant 

 dog-rose or trail of yellow woodbine. Let us wander 

 along the hazel lane, across the murmuring brook, 



