A PERSIAN GARDEN 771 



lets, the memory of which even the later Roses 

 does not usurp. They enrich the silken sod 

 with their precious amethystine embroidery 

 and they lift their dear eyes to the blue 

 heavens. 



Just where the wall meets the stream on 

 either side rise minarets of formal cypresses. 

 In another garden they would, perhaps, have 

 seemed misplaced, or tantalized by Marigolds, 

 or have seemed too sorrowful for riot of frolic- 

 some Phlox. But here they are proud of their 

 rubdi, and the stone garden-bench in the cool- 

 ness of their shadows is inscribed: 



"Do you, imihin your little hour of grace. 

 The waving Cypress in your arms enlace. 

 Before the mother hack into her arms 

 Fold, and dissolve you in a last embrace." 



The wild grape here runs riot over the gar- 

 den-walls, against whose bases great terra- 

 cotta oil- jars are placed. They might have 

 come from old Sarmacand! But now they 

 hold the most precious things in the garden — 

 Roses brought from Naishapur. On one of 

 these jars this rubai is incised: 



