io8 THE JOY OF GARDENS 



massing their reflections of the sky above snowy borders 

 of candytuft and banks of recklessly blooming feverfew. 



Earth has two orders of gardeners: the domestic kind 

 who owns a "flower bed" into which he cannot crowd too 

 many sweet, familiar flowers, and the trained gardener 

 who plans on paper and judges all his success from effects 

 seen from the street. The first weaves posies into his 

 nature as he weaves the flowers of art and poetry, to en- 

 rich his personality and to open his vision to human 

 sympathy; and the second, well-meaning enough, esti- 

 mates from the critic's point of view. 



It would be a privilege to have a tender side for the 

 lovely things behind the hedge, and to be able to satisfy 

 the rules of art in color and arrangement; but if I can 

 have only one gardener as a friend, give me the posy 

 lover. 



Over the hills and far away in the true farming country 

 the white clover has thrown its veil of gossamer across 

 the face of the landscape. The fresh green of the herbage 

 takes on a silver sheen spreading from the inclosed pas- 

 ture te the very edges of the dusty roadside and along the 

 garden path; and had you seen it at sunrise you would 

 have caught a glimpse of a thousand jeweled dewdrops 

 spangling its folds ere the sunbeams caught them aloft 

 into the azure atmosphere. 



Look to-morrow morning, and impassioned July will 

 have torn it away and the meadows will be blushing rosy 



