INTRODUCTION 



gay, the noble, and the witty discussed or read the last 

 poem, acted quaint masques, or sang to lute or viol pas- 

 sionate canzone destined for immortality. Beyond the 

 marble balustrades flashed the bright sea or dreamed 

 the purple mountains, and up and down the steps and 

 past the fountains and the statues half hidden in green 

 shade swept lords and ladies not less brilliant in color 

 than the most splendid of the flowers about them. 



It was in a garden outside the walls of Florence that 

 the Boccaccio novelli were related day by day. No 

 room, howsoever sumptuous, could be conceived of as 

 holding that bright assemblage, could have set free the 

 wit and romance of the story-tellers, as did the shady 

 slopes and statue-haunted precincts of the great garden 

 where they met. In the town were plague, horror, 

 hateful death. In the garden a breathing fragrance, 

 sweet health, and even merry hearts, or at least careless 

 ones. 



As for England, it is difficult to imagine her without 

 terraced gardens where the grass is thicker than moss 

 and greener than anywhere else on earth, where the 

 great trees have flung their deep shadows in a mighty 

 circle these many centuries, and where even in winter 

 a pale rose will still find courage to bloom. Great 

 gardens she has whose very names are history, and 

 where the landscape artist has reached his apogee. 

 And small gardens hushed within high walls, where 

 the wall-flowers spill their musky odor and standard 



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