6 THE AUSTRALIAN GARDENER. 
November 1, 1909 
felt the exaltation of Spring-time before. 
Note the tints of the birds’ plumage, the 
butterflies, the flowers—how they all vie 
the one with the other. Nature never 
clashes, never gets out of tune, and so 
when one’s‘ soul is full of discord and 
dismay” let us turn to Nature in 
Spring-time. Consolation, sweet and 
subtle, will come to us. stilling the wild 
course of our passions and smoothing off 
the rough corners in our hearts. Nature 
has affixed no bound for thought Our 
thoughts are free to roam at will, and 
here, away from fetters and traditions, 
from conventional routine that bind us 
as a vice, in the cities, our thoughts soar 
above the sordid. and we gather new 
harmonies into our souls, and start life 
anew, feeling refreshed and _ exalted. 
Year after year we welcome the vernal 
season as we welcome no other. Anxiously 
we look for the Spring flowers, the 
delicate little plants lifting grateful arms 
to the warm surishine, diffusing silent 
bliss to all who wander in their midst 
and absorb their wonderful intluences. 
There is freedom, greatness of thought 
possible here ; our eyes travel back from 
the fields, the hills to the cities. There 
everything is crooked. The people 
feel the air of Spring in their 
nostrils and remark, as they 
hurry on “Spring is coming.” But they 
learn no comfort from the fact. It is 
only when we commune with Spring in 
the fields, the woods, in the hills, that we 
feel our cares slip from us, and new ideals 
take their place. Broad is the expanse of 
beauty, and though we gather its lessons 
into our soul still there is room to aim 
higher. We see the slender orchids blown 
about by the breezes and marvel that 
their frail beauty is not harmed—but 
Nature is careful of her delicate plants, 
The birds know the changes of the seasons 
as wellas we do. In the Summer they 
are so very, very busy, that they are not 
often heard, in the Autumn they are de- 
lighted at the occasional warm days and 
when the dreary.winter days have passed, 
and Spring comes. their joyousness is 
seen and heard by all {who care to notice 
it. As the air of the pure Spring 
invigorates our body so let these beau- 
ties enrich the mind. #3 
“A Lament.’’ 
Spring is departing. Like a phantom 
she goes floating by, taking with her all 
the bliss and delights of the newly formed, 
leaving behind things mature, perhaps 
more beautiful, but not so fresh, the 
greens are not so tender, nor so various, 
It is the newly budding trees and hedges, 
the first flower, the first fledgling, the 
‘first butterfly, that brings to the restless, 
sordid soul of mankind a feeling of peace. 
When the heart is heavy with hope 
deferred a wreath of the fresh Spring air 
revives the spirit and fans into life the 
flame of Hope. Ah Spring why do you 
ever leave us? Stay with us, let your 
elusive beauties be ever with us, spurring 
us on to try again. 
When the tender greens are turning 
into deeper shades, when the Summer sun 
slants down in scorching rays upon the 
earth, the running stream shrinks back 
into itself, and leaves its course dry and 
parched, save where the brambles closely 
intermingled bend over and shield it from 
the fierce heat; and there as though in 
thankfulness grow the frail ferns. They 
remain young to remind us that Spring 
has been. And when we see them our 
thoughts travel back to the past Spring 
days, to the intangible delights of the 
evenings when we strolled at will amongst 
the trees and drank deep of their subile- 
ness. 
Spring! thou art so full of whispers and 
of promises, of all the wonders that the 
earth holds hidden away in her vastness. 
Thou suggestest all that is possible. all 
that can be acomplished. Thon art as 
full of ecstacy as Love, but as Summer 
and Autumn follow fast on thee, so forget- 
fulness follows fast upon young love, 
leaving behind it desolation — sometimes 
death. But when we are alone with the 
woods in springtime, the weight of 
sorrow seems not so heavy, into the soul 
wanders Hope, whispering fresh comfort 
to the tired brain with promises of ano- 
ther Spring. How the thought of another 
Spring cheers the weary mortal, it is as 
refreshing as the soft rain to the droop- 
ing flowers and weary grass, Ah Spring, 
you are better than Love, Love, like 
Summer grows old and sordid and forget- 
ful, but you are always young, always 
hopeful. Sitting by a stream listenlng 
to the insects, the birds, the wind play- 
ing hide and seek amongst the trees, we 
feel a soft mysterious glow of langour 
steal into our tired brains, and we sleep 
and dream of happier days to come—and 
of the happiness that is past. Again we 
feel the thrill of past joys. And yet we 
cannot keep the spring, it floats away as 
vapor and we are left aPone. We are old 
and tired, there is no Spring left for us, 
it is all Winter, and soon we shall fall 
asleep, to rest for ever in the dear quiet 
earth, 
The Secret 
OF MY SUCCESS IS 
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~ 
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