48 THE JOY OF GARDENS 



But if one is without blinders, and greets the dandelion 

 gatherer and her bouquet sisterhood in the morning, meets 

 our friend of the Japanese cult at luncheon, and dines 

 with a florist, he ponders into the long reaches of the night 

 and begs of the powers that be for a sign of the right and 

 true way. 



No gentle heart could deny sympathy with the posy 

 bunch of the dandelion gatherer, nor could the finest 

 tuned reject the gray- toned room with its single opening 

 rosebud leaning from a crystal vase, nor could one turn a 

 deaf ear to the creed of a "mum" or carnation breeder; 

 the world has room for them all. It is only a question of 

 selection and sociability. 



The generous, loving heart would in time rebel at the 

 vacant harmonies, the solitude of self and none other in 

 the esthetic room, and the "mum" breeder would join in 

 stealing off for a holiday behind the hedge, where the 

 country folk were sharing harmless gossip and making 

 bouquets for everyday homes, where willow chairs 

 elbowed with mahogany, and books of verse disturbed the 

 dust on neglected volumes of wisdom, while the wander- 

 ing breeze rustled the chintz curtains before the casement. 



Then, if we are given the grace to have courage to 

 cultivate a tangle of familiar flowers that live but a sum- 

 mer, the sun warns us that it is high time to plant the 

 seeds. We may yet get ahead of the ambitious neighbors 

 who made garden in April, for no seed will sprout before 



