The Happy Garden 



and if it be turned to selfish uses, it withers long 

 before the coming of the eternal winter. 



Sad poets, who have lost happiness, see winter 

 in the garden, death almost before life begins ; and 

 they have said charming, melancholy things, but 

 by losing or abusing happiness, they have lost the 

 sense of continuance. It is unreasonable to see 

 winter behind spring, without seeing spring through 

 winter. 



Jane grows glummer and glummer. Talking 

 of happiness is so depressing, just as there is a 

 certain pitch of gloom which is an absolute tonic ! 



There's a peony which is almost vulgar in its 

 insistence on being recognised : thrusting its way 

 to the front and shouting down the lupins and 

 delphiniums. Truth to tell, he is red in the face 

 because they are so tall. 



Mark the bees in the lily-trumpets and the 

 monkshood, and the larkspurs. Each labourer, each 

 day, sips the honey of only one flower. The bee 

 flits from larkspur to larkspur, never from larkspur 

 to Canterbury bell, etc. Each cell's honey must be 

 pure, and perhaps each cell is labelled in a language 

 which we cannot read. 



I only know one t nm g certain of the bees, one 

 thing of my own knowledge, and that is that they 

 detest dogs, which makes me almost turn against 



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