It
was more suited to her idle humour, she reflected. You could read one of
the brief lyrics and let the book slide down on to your knee and enjoy the
quivering blue and gold, and soft, murmurous, chirruping sounds of the
summer's day, while your mind played round the idea embodied in the poem.
She turned the pages idly, skimming desultorily through the verses till
she came to a brief two-verse lyric which caught and held her interest.
It was a very simple little song, but it appealed to the shining optimism
and belief which was a fundamental part of her own nature--to that brave,
sturdy confidence which had brought her, still buoyant and unspoiled and
sweet, through the vicissitudes of a girlhood that might very easily have
cradled an embittered woman.
"Beyond the hill there's a garden,
Fashioned of sweetest flowers,
Calling to you with its voice of gold,
Telling you all that your heart may hold,
Beyond the hill there's a garden fair--
My garden of happy hours.
"Dream-flowers grow in that garden,
Blossom of sun and showers,
There, withered hopes may bloom anew,
Dreams long forgotten shall all come true,
Beyond the hill there's a garden fair--
My garden of happy hours!"
[Footnote: This song, "Dream-Flowers," has been set to music by Margaret
Pedler.
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