never even once been good. I do not like to believe it to be from the reason that it is a very difficult subject to write on. Indeed, I incline to think that the flower itself is ever so pleased even with abad poem. There is a flower like the plum-blossom for instance, looking so critical and hard to please, whose severe appearance repels poor poetry; and we are almost afraid to write a line on the lotus, because it looks so holy. And the lone formal behaviour of the Iris makes our personal approach impossible. It is like the Japanese tea-master wrapped in cold silence, But the cherry-blossom is in temperament like love, generous enough like love to make a poet believe his work is good; but in truth he always fails, again as in love.
I often quarrel with my friend, who insists that the cherry-blossom is vain, like a pretentious woman; I always say to him that a proof that it is not will be seen in the fact that it never asks your imagination to value it for more than it is, as does the plum-blossom sometimes, and the morning-glory quite often. If you think it is pretentious, it is only the
