THE ROAD TO SPRING 
9 
kingdom of faery with trees of silver and flowers and 
fruits of diamond and pearl. Every foot’s pace bears 
you on to more revelations in this enchanted pleasaunce. 
Winter is indeed a rare artificer: there is not a leaf, or 
a blade, or growing spray or mass of plant-forms that 
he does not take pains to transfigure almost out of all 
knowledge. This is surely the apotheosis, the magic 
hour of every humble unblossomed herb and green thing 
the garden grows. Spring and summer may bring no 
largesse for these, autumn no splendid stains and dyes; 
but here is winter, another King Cophetua, one might 
say, scattering his jewels broadcast with so royal a bounty 
that each unconsidered twig, each sober leaf of evergreen, 
is clothed with glories as great as, or greater, than the rose. 
Where there is already, as in the clustered ivy or Portugal 
laurel, a fine grace of outline and of form, it is intensified 
and made manifest a thousandfold; while, so marvellous 
is this pure wealth of pearl and crystal set against the 
sun’s clear gold, that it obliterates imperfection and 
exalts the commonplace. The scentless yellow jasmine 
trails upon the trellis like frosted amber, the dark leaves 
of the hellebore gleam all bediamonded about their pale 
roses. As I pass my herb-plot’s bejewelled tangle, for¬ 
gotten and left to wildness in the press of other work, I 
cannot find it in my heart to repent my omission, for 
had it been properly “ redd up ” and set in due order I 
must needs have missed this faint, sweet incense, the 
ghost of a perfume, that breathes from it to-day. How 
and why I know not, but some mysterious alchemy of 
sun and snow has drawn forth a fragrance of myrrh 
and thyme commingled, that sets you thinking of 
