“I know you ghost of some lone, delicate hour,
Long-gone but unforget,
Wherein I had for guerden and dower,
That one thing I have not.”
It was a white lilac that inspired the lady to write the lines—yes, the lilac tree. Shall I plant it in my garden, although I have no particular faith in flowers in a Japanese garden? “We modems have only flowers, but not gardens,” I often said; and I even went on to declare that we must protest against such a state of things. However, I should be glad to have one or two lilacs, not in the garden, but somewhere beyond my sight, their old perfumes sailing towards me over the grayness.
As I said, I opened the shoji apart and sat on the verandah, sipping tea; from the cup my soul of fancy drank the youthfulness and love of these early summer days when every tree has changed its crimson-sleeved flower dress to a green coat. I always thought that green is a symbol of youth, and also of a maturing love. So this early Summer is more to my heart than Spring. It is with these summer days that the breeze can spread its musical wings freely. O
