THE CHARM OF GARDENS 



me who they are. There is a dream there if you like ; 

 and while you look at them, and sniff them delicately, is 

 not the fussy world shut off from you by clouds. Sweet 

 Peas are like a bevy of winsome girls all in their everyday 

 frocks, scented by an odour of virginity, something in- 

 describably refined after the manner of the flesh, and 

 something lofty in their removal from the earth after the 

 way of the spirit. I wonder how many people feel this. 



Take it more broadly in the true Olympian spirit. 

 Take it that a house and garden is an Olympus to each 

 man and woman who is happy, and you will see that your 

 heaven for all its head in the clouds has its feet upon the 

 earth. Then what do the flowers mean ? Lilies with 

 pale faces like a procession of nuns. Roses all queens of 

 regal beauty. Violets to whom the thrushes sing, deny 

 it if you dare. Majestic Peonies. The plants of soft 

 and courtly wisdom, Thyme, Rosemary, Myrtle. Laven- 

 der, the House-dame, prim, neat, beloved of bees and 

 butterflies, Quakerishly dressed in grey with a touch of 

 unsectarian colour, yet vaguely an ecclesiastical purple ; 

 rather slim, with full skirts, with the suggestion that 

 Cowslips are her bunches of keys, and the Dandelion her 

 clock. 



One could go on for ever. 



And then the gardener, like those half -immortals who 

 worked for the gods, or some like a god of old, even, with 

 god-like grumbles, and god-like simplicity. 



They are a strange race, these gardeners, given to 

 unexpected meals, and sudden appearances. 



" Walter ! " 



And after that, from some fragrant bush, or waving 

 forest of Asparagus, a bronzed man stands erect, as if he 

 had sprung from the bowels of the earth, where he had 

 been contemplating the mysteries of human weakness. 



And how amazed they are with us and our foibles and 



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