In and out of Florence; a new introduction to a well-known city . the unpremeditation Our Garden 57 of paths, and in the astonishing juxtaposition of pota-toes and irises or artichokes and lilacs. These happyvictories of chance appeal to ones instinct of vaga-bondia and ones spirit of democracy. Why shouldnot the lily and the onion be friends at elbows? Theyare of the same family! Far away at the very lower end of the garden,which isnt really far at all, there is the other bound-ing, retaining wall rising high out of the olive grovebelow. In the ar-bor along this wallthat is covered withrose,
In and out of Florence; a new introduction to a well-known city . the unpremeditation Our Garden 57 of paths, and in the astonishing juxtaposition of pota-toes and irises or artichokes and lilacs. These happyvictories of chance appeal to ones instinct of vaga-bondia and ones spirit of democracy. Why shouldnot the lily and the onion be friends at elbows? Theyare of the same family! Far away at the very lower end of the garden,which isnt really far at all, there is the other bound-ing, retaining wall rising high out of the olive grovebelow. In the ar-bor along this wallthat is covered withrose, passion vine,and acacia and bor-dered by larches andarbor vitas, we some-times have tea, orlie on spread mat-tings to read anddoze. From herewe can look out in-timately into the po-dere that stretchesacross and down thehill-slope below podere is pri-marily an olive or-chard; as, indeed,are all the hill-sidesabout Florence. But in it grapevines loop fromtree to tree, and grain is underneath all. Threedifferent crops, not to speak of scattering figs, mul-. It seems to be, in May, wholly agarden of irises. 58 Our Garden berries, and other fruits, are taken from it by itsowner each year, and to us it yields still anotherharvest: a harvest of continuous beauty of scene andinterest of performance. White oxen come here with red tassels on theirfaces, and laborers with grimy sashes girt aboutthem. There are birds which chatter and call, andcrickets, green grasshoppers, and cicale that sing andthrob all through the long, warm, growing is one nightingale; it stays high up in thepodere, just below the cypresses and ilexes of Gam-beraia and begins its singing usually about midnight,sometimes, though, not till just gray dawn. Wehave never heard it sing at midday, as nightingalesare said sometimes to do. If the podere adjoining us with its olive and vinesand shivering grain belongs to us, what is to preventour seeking a higher vantage point and making awider inclusion in ou
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, bookidinoutofflore, bookyear1910
