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Old Time Gardens 
I have written of the gladness of spring, but I know 
nothing more overwhelming than the heartache of 
spring, the sadness of a fresh-growing spring garden. 
Where is the dear one who planted it and loved it, 
and he who helped her in the care, and the loving 
child who played in it and left it in the springtime ? 
All that is good and beautiful has come again to us 
with the sunlight and warmth, save those whom we 
still love but can see no more. By that very meas- 
ure of happiness poured for us in childhood in Lilac 
tide, is our cup of sadness now filled. 
