THE LURE OF THE GARDEN 



Later on, it is Love that unlatches the gate and be- 

 takes himself to the gossip's seat, where he is immedi- 

 ately very much at home. For of the many places 

 where love belongs, a garden stands first and foremost. 

 Lovers belong in gardens, and it is probably the in- 

 stinctive recognition of this fact that fills the park 

 benches, when his votaries have nothing better in the 

 garden line to shelter in. 



A garden in the moonlight, consecrated by the in- 

 effable serenity of the still hour, and breathing an 

 intenser fragrance in the cool freshness following upon 

 a day of heat and sun, verily murmurs of love, so 

 that even the lonely soul most dedicate to a solitary 

 existence is conscious of the influence as he wanders 

 through its mazes. And when it is two young people 

 who find themselves caught in that silver mesh, hands 

 meet and heads lean together as inevitably as a hare- 

 bell sways on its stalk or a rose opens its crimson 

 beauty at the appointed moment. 



The words, the secrets lovers whisper each to each 

 while the clambering moon-flowers pause to listen and 

 the white moths flutter by on love business of their 

 own, this speech of love can never be translated into the 

 language of ordinary life. True enough that the words 

 used are identical with those employed in commonplace 

 affairs and between persons whose hearts are keeping 

 the normal beat. But these same words are full of oc- 

 cult and esoteric meanings, when exchanged by lovers 



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