LATER FLOWERS 



that this or this must be; yet, like Lear to the 

 beloved daughter, we cry, "Stay a little." In 

 associations of flowers with dear and pleasant 

 people, in the memories that fall like lights or 

 shadows across the garden's spaces, memories of 

 those who were within it and are not, lies the 

 garden's sweetest quality. It is a touching thing 

 planned by the people of a village in Surrey, Eng- 

 land, that Garden of Remembrance, as a war 

 memorial to be made in the churchyard. "There 

 is to be a yew hedge enclosing a plot of ground 

 bordered with rosemary. Within there will be a 

 memorial stone set in a rock garden in which 

 brightly colored flowers will be kept." 



A little wind rises; the rustle of drifting leaves 

 is heard in the garden; the shadows lengthen over 

 grass as green as April's. I look at these treasures 

 of color and scent, at the green leaves, the charm- 

 ing mounds of plant and shrub, and feel that 

 poignancy of regret, the attribute of the passing 

 of all that is fair. 



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