HOODACRES ON THE HIGHWAY 
When Delphiniums Bloom 
It is not difficult to comprehend why gardeners grow 
Delphiniums, or perennial Larkspurs. They do not grow 
them for profit, although those who tend the flowers may 
he commercial gardeners. They do not grow them for gain 
solely. If you have seen a garden of Delphiniums in full 
flower, ranging from the hue of a starless twilight to that 
of cloudless summer noon, you will know that gardeners 
could not think wholly of profit and grow Delphiniums. 
It is simple enough to lose one’s heart to any flower. 
The loveliness of it grows in the loam of one’s heart and 
blooms there until the season of that flower is anticipated 
and a hunger comes for the witnessing of it. New leaves 
emerge from the soil, and bending over them, that delicate 
fragile green, one considers that they must bloom some 
day. And the flower stalk rises from amid the foliage, and 
buds appear, and eagerness hovers the miracle. It will be 
soon, now. It is in this wise that gardeners watch the 
Delphinium, and more observantly than any other of the 
garden’s guests. 
Nor are they ever unrewarded. There is a morning when 
the spires unfold, and modestly, and day to day the Del¬ 
phiniums increase in stately stature and quaint beauty 
until there is no dream of blue that does not find its coun¬ 
terpart in the garden. There are tints past dreaming, as 
must ever be the case when the creative artistry vies with 
the fancy of mortals. Delphiniums are very satisfactory. 
To walk among them is to feel that providence is not un¬ 
mindful of beauty, that it takes thought of the nurture of 
the spirit, and that the Delphiniums hold speech with you. 
There is a white-crowned sparrow singing in the rose.— 
Ben Hur Lampman, the Oregon poet. 
Page Thirty-eight 
