DAYS IN MY GARDEN 



snowdrops now, a colony of Hyatinthm candicam. 

 In these closing days we are colour-greedy, and are 

 only appeased by banks and masses, we need a whole 

 mountain of purple heather, a wood of flaming red 

 and gold. So Nature it would seem, all through the 

 long summer days, stores up in her verdant robe the 

 falling rays of sun-paint, until she can no longer retain 

 their hues, and bursting forth in her gorgeous ' fall,' 

 gives not only enough, but a colour-feast with 

 abundance to spare as she holds out to our view the 

 marvellous glories of her changing autumn gown, 

 woven with the very threads of sunset-gold, em- 

 broidered with its flaming fires and gemmed with a 

 myriad of diamond dew-drops. 



A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot ! 



Rose plot, 



Fringed pool, 



Ferned grot 



The veriest school 



Of peace ; and yet the fool 



Contends that God is not 



Not God ! in gardens ! when the eve is cool ? 



Nay, but I have a sign ; 



Tis very sure God walks in mine. 



T. E. BROWN. 



156 



