SOME PARTICULAR GARDENS
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with some late lingering white Lilies, made such a picture; nor of the fiery borders of Nerine (Lycoris radiata) which September shows at the edges of the golden fields of rice paddy; nor of a hundred other places where God has been the Gardener, and the heart leaps at the results. Like Wordsworth’s daffodils, “they are the joy of solitude,” and mine own in love.
