The morning call., 1893-06-29
THE ROMAUNT OF
THE ROSE.

Jew. lie Oh-eyeu udlSy uIopS HeI petals
to the circliug grass, signing He loves; he
loves me not"
From out the hedge the coral trumpets OF
the honeysuckle declare its sweetness and
the jeweled humming-b bird pauses before
it. vibrant.
The vesper sparrow ceases, and next the
woodthrush; one final ripple from the
bobolink, a whistle from the chat. and
then nighthawk and the booming frog:
alone disturb the silence. Low in the west
the slender crescent moon gives prece-
dence to Venus, the evening star.
Beneath, from out bed of emerald
leaves. slowly unfolding. perfume clad. a
queen comes forth. The frs: June rose.
The brown II 9th. fitting. bears away the
news through garden, field and lane.
Across the swamps the firetlies signal it.
and perching in his tree, remotely socia-
bic, his own breast flushed with Joy, the
grosbeak murmurs 1t throughout the
night
A fire opal bars the east at dawn /; before
the prism changes the herald tanagers in
red and black are speeding through the
trees and tinkling bobolinks in every field
proclaim the climax of the sylvan year. the
birth of the first rose.
Over the land in flower and fruit pulses
well-ted wberry, with ruddy, pited
face, declares himself a cousin the ripen-
ing cherry speaks for the pear, the plum
and ounce. The apple, self-lmpOrtant,
hesitates. remembering his beauty lately
gone. The swaying canes of black5erries
and raspberres wave snowy wands in
homage, and in the springy field, where
feur-de-lis betray the sluggish stream, the
timid meadow-sweet, in spires of pink or
white, takes courage and cries out, 1--WE,
too; we, too, are Kim"
Then rings the matin song from all the
feathered clan that camp in bush and
grass and tree; the red thrush leads the
hermit thrush and mourning Cove cOntral-
tos. sopranos, the robin, oriole and bobo-
link for tenors. the song sparrow and
wood thrush. with cuckoos and laughing
high holes singing base. The catblrd 60
ing through every tone. mimics and jeers,
and the green warbler adds his little
prayer: ''Oh, hear me! Hear me, st.
Theresa" This is their p9an oil joy. their
perfect song. before the nesting cares and
scorchlng sans weary and silence them.
With Bird notes mingle the flower voices
in language of quaint days when flowers
served as speech between shy lovers. and
each young maid tending her garden, lived
and dreamed in it, The Towering almond
spoke of hope. the bue5ell nodded con-
stancy, the vigorous aTum, ardor; the
white poppy, closing with early shadows,
sleep; the pansy, thoughts; the !arkspur,
fickleness. But roses, whether they be
red or white, Dink-hearted. yellow, double.
single, all sing of love. the changeful mel
ody of many keys.
Young CUPID once Qor so the legend
runs) kissed red rose, and In its heart
put love. Alas there luTked a bee that
stnng his lips To still bis cry Of rage, his
mother strung on his bow a swarm of
bees. and set their stings upon the roses
stalk in punishment. So love and roses
still are beset with thorns.
The wild rose, simple hearted love, star
ring the unknown edge of fields and rocky
banks, comes first, before its paler sister of
the swamp unfurlS or yet the hardy little
bush thatl0ves the sun has budded.
The slender-stemmed musk rose at even
ing only yields its fragrant charm and Is
.capricious love. The maiden blush, well
yelled in green, says: IF you love me you
will fnd it out" The moss bud answers /:
II stand confessed"
The banner rose, streaked red and white,
means war, in memory of Lancaster and
York. anu the long-spiked Carolnian. brist-
ling, cries, "Dangerous in love-"
The sprayed white bridal rose says t:
Happy love-" The sensuous demask
mother of Eastern affairs, echoes Love,
love" and the eglantiue. rose of sorrow,
dropping its fragrant leaves like tears,
Whispers, L WOunu TO neal.
VINO only knows the winter florists
rose, the growth of forcing steam, knows
not the poor mans rose. the lovers rose.
the free gift of the sun, the dew, the air,
the marriage token OF the earth in June.
Into the garden quick, do not delay
Roses are sweetest and keep the longer
picked with the dew upon them. But yes
terday the tulips greeted You with brm-
ming OF light and suD-sw eet wallflOwers.
A few brief weeks ago in keen crisp air
you gathered primr0ses and violets
To-day the air is langunrous and heat
trem bes above the graveled path. Look
at the painted iris, royal purple, edged
with viOlet, yellow laced with crimson and
white, with patrician veins of blue. each
feathery stamen tipped with molten gold.
The spikes of foXglove, whose spotted.
hairy throat allures the bumbebee. The
hardy poppy, borrowing Mephisto's name
and cloak, burns in the bordering grass.
next masses Of Glove pinks, pure whiteand
fringed The tall blue larkspur, with
stalks of mimic bees. completes the tri-
color, while giant peonies might pose as
roses for Gargantua.
Oh, roses! roses everywhere! They lean
into your arms and fill your basket, hat.
your upturned gown. and falling all in
rio,ous heaps bestew the ground.
No prim, set standards, pruned like pa ra-
soils. but honest bushes, hanging branch on
uiduCu, cleall-iedSeu Win lavish bloom.
The JaeQuemin0t must give you half-closed
budS-his flowers fiatten soon beneath the
sun. VIII you have darker? Here is
Xavier Olibo and DIR. Dombra clad in
velvet and vet one more Camille Rohan in
crimson. black and double to the core.
ETou shall have pink ones. too. No rosa
Is half as much rose as the great deep
cupped pink. Here's Paul Neyron. he
opens back too far; Gloire de Margoitin is
better shape and Annede Diesbach bears
a perfect globe. Will you nave olnshlng
pink? Heres Captain Christy and the
Silver Queen. Will you have buds? Here
are pink and white, both messed, and an
other still, ght-curled seashell, all be-
reit of thorns.
Madame Planter. who vies with the CO.
Quette-des blaDches. Pass by the yelo W
Persian, for its saffron disks smell i'll, and
gather instead the Byzantine, both for its
leaf and flower.
Here by the trellsed wall are nameless
guests. relics of simple days when roses
pore no royal names aud cuttings from a
nei2hb or's bush spread east and west.
The cinnamon rose, with brownish bark
and dull red spicy flowers the red rose q
Provence, with long hooked thorns, W he So
blossoms were made in rose cakes and con-
serves, and next the rose of 100 leaves,
with full pink orbs and the frail yellow
briarS, with thornS like moss and semi
double flower.
In times when Gothic art folio wed In
stone the teachings of the trees the rose
was wrought in vast cathedral walls to be
a window; the Rose of Heaven. whose
vitreous petals were symbols of blessed
souls.
Who is there but can conjure up sweet
memories with rose?
Perhaps it may recall wild-rose hedge
~