72 AN ISLAND GARDEN 



Rose, Bayberry, Spirea, Shadbush, Elder, and 

 many more. How beautiful they are, these grassy, 

 rocky slopes shelving gradually to the sea, with 

 here and there a mass of tall, blossoming grass 

 softly swaying in the warm wind against the 

 peaceful, pale blue water! Among the grass a few 

 ghostly dandelion tops yet linger, with now and 

 then a belated golden flower. How lovely is the 

 delicacy of the white bleached rocks, the little 

 spaces of shallow soil exquisite with vivid crimson 

 Sorrel, or pearly with the brave Eyebright, all 

 against the soft color of the sea. What harmony 

 of movement in all these radiant growths just 

 stirred by the gentle air! Here and there a stout 

 little bough of Chokecherry, with clustered white 

 blossoms tipped with pink, springing from a cleft 

 in the rock, lights up in sunshine, its pink more 

 glowing for the turquoise background of the 

 ocean. How hot the sun blazes ! The Blue-eyed 

 Grass is quite faint and drooping in the rich turf, 

 but the yellow Crowfoot shines strong and steady; 

 no sunshine is too bright for it. In the garden 

 the tall Jacqueminot Rosebushes gather power 

 from the great warmth and light, and hold out 

 their thick buds to absorb it and fold its splendor 

 in their inmost hearts. One or two of the heavi- 

 est buds begin to loosen their crimson velvet pet- 

 als and shed their delicious perfume on the air. 

 The Oriental Poppy glories in the heat. Among 

 its buds, thrust upward like solid green apples, one 

 has burst into burning flame, each of its broad 

 fiery petals as large as the whole inside of my 

 hand. In the Iceland Poppy bed the ardent light 



