The San Francisco call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1895-1913, 1895-05-05
Life is beautiful thought.

While the sun was caressing me with its
first beams, Iole entered the garden and
perceived me. A great delight seized her,
and she began to clasp her little hands,
which were as tender and pink as my
petals.
I was the first rose of the, garden on
which she had spent so much loving care
through the rigors of the cruel winter, and
from the moment she perceived me l was
instilled with new life by the feeling that
some one was interested in me.
She was slender, frail girl, her cheeks
lust tinged with touch of carnation. Her
soft, blonde hair was like gold, and she
had one of those delicate spiritual faces
that seem to shine with the light of i'm
mortality.
Iole gave me my salutation on entering
life, and l gave her my first fragrance.
But she did not pluck me- another thought
seemed to occupy her, for | noticed that
her blue eyes looked anxiously through
the gate along the white road.
No doubt she was expecting some one,
and veil of melancholy now and then
covered her features. "She is in love, I
thought. Suddenly a horses trot was
heard Iole ran to the gate, and che"
appeared.
As / looked at those two young people,
mutely holding one another's hands, look
ing into one another's eyes, caressed by
the spring sunshine, they seemed to me
like the youth OF nature, the spring of ex-
istence, and when they spoke listened to
their voices as if they had been music.
always before my eyes. When will my
dream become a reality?" and he kissed
her hands, lovingly and respectfully.
Iole ran to the rose tree, plucked me,
and fastening me to his coat, said: 'There
is the first rose of my garden. l give it to
you, as l have given you the first love of
my heart. Keep it, and the rose will bring
you the reality of your dream"
And though my tender fibers were suf-
from the rosebush L could not help think
ing, "Love is very sweet thing"
The water in this Moorish cup where l
am immersed keep, me alive, but how I'M
familiar everything is. Near me two gilt
cupids kiss one another over the clock, th G
room is filled with a vague perfume OF
sandal-wood and the air is soft and tepid.
"He" is seated in an armchair with a
book in his hand, but he is not reading;
his eyes are fixed on a damask portiere,
and he is listening to the slightest sound.
Evidently he is expecting some one, Iole,
no doubt.
The curtain moves aside and a woman
dressed in fur coat appears in the void.
Dec! it is not Iole, it is a taller, more beau
tiful woman, with full red lips and eyes
like lamps of passion.
He takes her hands and rains shower
of kisses ON them, calling her "love." and
caressing her hair. Why? My intelligence
reels in trying to understand it. Can a
man love two women at the same time
To which does he lie, to the girl of this
morning or the woman of this moment?
As / strive to catch these words he takes
me from the cup and fastens me on his
breast. WE'LL l would rather have died
near 1ole, but
What is happeningl A man has APP
peared on the threshold, he is very pale,
and has a revolver in his hand.
There is cry of agony, and the beaut-
full dark woman falls struck to the heart.
The fatal ball has hit me also; l have lost
many petals, and am sprinkled with the
blood Of the girl who lies supine and still
on the carpet.
I died when they threw me aside in a
corner of the room as useless object. To-
day he picked me up kissed my stained
petals and shut me in little ebony casket.
In my sepulcher l still think of Iole' s
sweet face and say to myself, ga mans
love is terribly sad thing"