108 AN ISLAND GARDEN 



but tempest and tumult and rush and roar of wind 

 and rain. 



The long trailing sprays of the Echinocystus 

 vine stretch and strain like pennons flying out in 

 the blast, the Wistaria tosses its feathery plumes 

 over the arch above the door. Alas, for my bank 

 of tall Poppies and blue Cornflowers and yellow 

 Chrysanthemums outside ! The Poppies are laid 

 low, never to rise again, but the others will gather 

 themselves together by and by, and the many- 

 colored fires of Nasturtiums will clothe the slope 

 with new beauty presently. The storm is sweep- 

 ing past, already the rain diminishes, the light- 

 ning pales, the thunder retreats till leagues and 

 leagues away we hear it "moaning and calling 

 out of other lands." The clouds break away and 

 show in the west glimpses of pure, melting blue, 

 the sun bursts forth, paints a rainbow in the east 

 upon the flying fragments of the storm, and pours 

 a flood of glory over the drowned earth ; the 

 pelted flowers take heart and breathe again, every 

 leaf shines, dripping with moisture; the grassy 

 slopes laugh in sweet color; the sea calms itself 

 to vast tranquillity and answers back the touch 

 of the sun with a million glittering smiles. 



Though the outside bank of flowers is wrecked 

 and the tall Poppies prone upon the ground, those 

 inside the garden are safe because I took the pre- 

 caution to run two rows of wire netting up and 

 down through the beds for their support. So, 

 when the winds are cruelly violent, the tall, brittle 

 stalks lean against this light but strong bulwark 

 and are unhurt. 



