THE JOY OF A GARDEN. 
“ A wilderness of flowers around us lying, 
Tangling our steps the hidden pathway throng ; 
Myrtles and vines bloom there above thee, sighing, 
As the wind wakes their fibres into song. 
* # * * * 
Life here is Eros, that hath ever been, 
The sigh of Death forgot, the shadow Time unseen ” 
John E. Eeade. 
0 blinding sunshine and green coolness! 0 fresh 
morning air and dew-powdered gossamers ! O wakeful 
colours and sleepy odours! O shivering leaves and 
rustling bird's-wing ! O joyful dawn, with hum of 
voices ! and 0 sultry noon, with dead stillness, silent, 
and oppressive ! O mossy turf! O sparkling fountain ! 
O dark mould, that, out of thy dead heart, sendest up 
the joy of summer in flowers that rise like souls 
released from the sepulchre ! O emerald spring, crouch¬ 
ing in shyness ! 0 lusty summer, confronting the sun 
in thy bold strength and ardour ! 0 fiery autumn, 
gathering the glories of all seasons to thyself, to swell 
the grandeur of thy flaming sacrifice 1 and 0 hoary 
winter, magician and destroyer, by whose touch the 
world is hushed to rest, and the grave of beauty gar- 
