The Lily of a day
Is fairer far in May:
Although it fall and die that night,
It was the plant and flower of light.”
Ben Jonson.
Once more our favourite old Ben! Roses are gone, and the memory of them is as of something too beautiful for words. And Lilies, too, are over; the fairest of them, the tall white Lily, with her shining head—nil candidius—pure as the shining robe of saints in heaven—better than Solomon in his glory. She, too, is past; nothing of her remains but long dismal stems, with down-hanging shrivelled leaves and melancholy pointals undrest of beauty—to tell of her former pride.
East Gate.
The character and features of the Lily would seem to be well marked enough; and yet, sometimes, the popular idea of it is certainly a mixed one. In former days flower-hawkers in the streets of London may be remembered crying, “Lilies, fine white Lilies!” with their barrow-loads of white Thorn, or May blossom, from the country. Some botanical reason there must have been for the Lilies in Ferrari’s “De Florum Cultura” (1633) being named Narcissus! I have been studying an odd volume of this curious old book, and the unmistakable Lilies represented in the plates are all “Narcissus Indicus.” Even the Water-lily-like Blood Flower is a Narcissus. Very likely these remarks may only show my ignorance.
July must be all retrospect, for all is over—or so it seems to me. After an absence of a few days, on returning to the garden, I find there is a change—an almost autumnal feeling in the air, and withered leaves are blown across the lawn. Faint perfumes linger still about the Limes, and though no song birds are there, the sound of bees is heard in the green depths above. But we no longer would breakfast under the Limes, as we did so short a while since, in summer days departed. Wind and rain have done their worst amongst the flowers, and yet there is consolation in all that remains. The best are passed away, but beautiful new things are coming on. The Evening Primrose (Ænothera) already lights up the garden ways. Variegated Maples, with their foliage white as ivory, look their best against the darkening Elms.[6] The hedge of Sweet Peas is for the moment in beauty. Sweet Peas go off too quickly in our light warm soil, so we try to prolong their blooming to the latest limit by cutting off their pods as fast as they appear.