XI 



GARDEN PROMISES 



It is Winter, and when it is winter the earth is very 

 secret, but it lies like pie-crust promises waiting to be 

 broken. A little graveyard of the tombs of seeds and 

 bulbs spreads before one's eyes. Each tomb has a 

 nice headstone of white with the name of the buried 

 life below written upon it. The virtues of the buried 

 are not written in so many words, but their names 

 suffice for that. In my imagination I see my graveyard 

 like this : 



HEBE LIES BURIED 



A 



ROSE COLOUEED TULIP 



WHO CAME ACEOSS THE SEAS 



FBOM THE KINGDOM 



OF 



HOLLAND 



UNDEB THIS EABTH 

 SHE 

 AND ONE HUNDRED OF HEB SISTERS 



ABE WAITING FOB THE SPBING 

 WHEN THEY WILL UNFOLD THEMSELVES 



FBOM THEIB LONG SLEEP AND ADOBN 



WITH THEIB PLEASANT FACES THE SOUTH 



BOEDER FACING THE STUDY WINDOW 



That I see most clearly written over the spot where I 

 tucked the hundred and one beautiful sisters in their 

 bed of rich brown earth, and I am looking for the 



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