The Blue Flower Border 
2 73 
we are constantly hearing folks speak of the lack 
of the color blue among wild flowers, which always 
surprises me ; I suppose I see blue because I love 
blue. In pure cobalt tint it is rare; in compensa- 
tion, when it does abound, it makes a permanent 
imprint on our vision, which never vanishes. Re- 
calling in midwinter the expanses of color in sum- 
mer waysides, I do not see them white with Daisies, 
or yellow with Goldenrod, but they are in my mind’s 
vision brightly, beautifully blue. One special scene 
is the blue of Fringed Gentians, on a sunny October 
day, on a rocky hill road in Royalston, Massachu- 
setts, where they sprung up, wide open, a solid mass 
of blue, from stone wall to stone wall, with scarcely 
a wheel rut showing among them. Even thus, grow- 
ing in as lavish abundance as any weed, the Fringed 
Gentian still preserved in collective expanse, its deli- 
cate, its distinctly aristocratic bearing. 
Bryant asserts of this flower : — - 
“ Thou waitest late, and com’st alone 
When woods are bare, and birds are flown.” 
But by this roadside the woods were far from bare. 
Many Asters, especially the variety I call Michael- 
mas Daisies, Goldenrod, Butter-and-eggs, Turtle 
Head, and other flowers, were in ample bloom. 
And the same conditions of varied flower com- 
panionship existed when I saw the Fringed Gentian 
blooming near Bryant’s own home at Cummington. 
Another vast field of blue, ever living in my 
memory, was that of the Viper’s Bugloss, which I 
