"You scarce can say 

 If it be summer still, or Autumn yet, 

 Rather it seems as if the twain had met, 

 And Summer, being loath to go away, 

 Autumn retains her hand, and begs 

 of her to stay." 



But she will not stay. The flowers pass. It 

 is true, you may mimic the flowers in wax, you 

 may even reproduce their fragrance, but such 

 copies smack of embalmment. 



Do we not recognize kinship in the passing 

 flowers ? We love the flowers because they are 

 so human, changing and passing like ourselves. 

 "The unquiet spirit of a flower" is akin to our 

 own souls. Its transit leaves us dreaming, it 

 may be, of all that might have been, but it 

 teaches us the highest wisdom in telling us to 

 make the most of life's best moments. 



Thus gently does nature take us in hand and 

 slowly teach us, and if we will but learn her 

 lessons now we shall be able to receive the 

 harder lessons to come. 



For, as we feel the spirit of autumn more, 

 the more does its restfulness stir within us a 

 strange unrest. With September come vague 

 [i35l 



AUTUMN 

 DREAMS 



