WATER-LILIES 89 
edge is, there seems the natural and permanent 
margin. And the same natural fitness, without 
reference to mere quantity, extends to its flow- 
ery children. Before us lie islands and conti- 
nents of lilies, acres of charms, whole, vast, 
unbroken surfaces of stainless whiteness. And 
yet, as we approach them, every island cup that 
floats in lonely dignity, apart from the multi- 
tude, appears perfect in itself, couched in white 
expanded perfection, its reflection taking a faint 
glory of pink that is scarcely perceptible in the 
flower. As we glide gently among them, the 
air grows fragrant, and a stray breeze flaps 
the leaves, as if to welcome us. Each floating 
flower becomes suddenly a ship at anchor, or 
rather seems beating up against the summer 
wind in a regatta of blossoms. 
Early as it is in the day, the greater part of 
the flowers are already expanded. Indeed, 
that experience of Thoreau’s, of watching them 
open in the first sunbeams, rank by rank, is 
not easily obtained, unless perhaps in a narrow 
stream, where the beautiful slumberers are 
more regularly marshalled. In our lake, at 
least, they open irregularly, though rapidly. 
But this morning many linger as buds, while 
others peer up, in half-expanded beauty, be- 
neath the lifted leaves, frolicsome as Pucks or 
baby nymphs. As you raise the leaf, in such 
