Plain words; but a princess had written them, and never did so golden a
halo enclose any piece of human handiwork.




CHAPTER XXVII

THE TIME OF ROSES

I sat and thrilled from head to foot with a deeper emotion than joy. Not
I, but a detached self allied to the careering universe and having life
in it.

'Violets are over.'

The first strenuous effort of my mind was to grasp the meaning, subtle as
odour, in these words. Innumerable meanings wreathed away unattainable
to thought. The finer senses could just perceive them ere they vanished.
Then as I grew material, two camps were pitched and two armies prepared
to fight to establish one distinct meaning. 'Violets are over, so I send
you roses'; she writes you simple fact. Nay, 'Our time of violets is
over, now for us the roses'; she gives you heavenly symbolism.

'From violets to roses, so run the seasons.'

Or is it,

'From violets to roses, thus far have we two travelled?'