DAYS IN MY GARDEN 



Whence the ' power ' whose ' matchless working ' 

 takes the seed and, with these same tasteless things, 

 produces under equal conditions the succulent pun- 

 gency of the onion, the sweetness of the carrot, the 

 delicate flavour of asparagus and pea or, with longer 

 time, the crisp, juicy apple or luscious pear ? 



Where within these microscopic atoms lurks the 

 wizard who, as the blooms unfold, distils the fragrant 

 scent of rose, mignonette, jessamine and stock ? 



There is no change in the sweetness of the violets 

 as spring after spring they come and go, the recipe 

 is never lost, the formulae never vary, for, mark you, 

 Nature never forgets anything. The wafted sweet- 

 ness of the lime trees laden with blossom, the bloom 

 upon the grape, the flavour of the peach, the graceful 

 curves of the delicate pink-coloured ' Lady-in-the- 

 Boat ' ; these things change not, fail not, and we are 

 like those who marvelled at Goldsmith's village 

 schoolmaster : 



And still they gazed and still the wonder grew, 

 That one small head could carry all he knew. 



So we ask ourselves again, how is it possible that 

 this seed dust can 'shut within' its minute brown 



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