This gate I used to open to see the sunset
heaven; beyond this black frame I did not step, for I liked to
look at the deep gold behind it. How exquisitely happy I
was in its beauty, and how I loved the silvery wreaths of my
protecting vine! I never would pluck one of its flowers at
that time, I was so jealous of its beauty, but often since I
carry off wreaths of it from the wild-wood, and it stands in
nature to my mind as the emblem of domestic love.
'Of late I have thankfully felt what I owe to that garden,
where the best hours of my lonely childhood were spent. Within
the house everything was socially utilitarian; my books told
of a proud world, but in another temper were the teachings of
the little garden. There my thoughts could lie callow in the
nest, and only be fed and kept warm, not called to fly or sing
before the time. I loved to gaze on the roses, the violets,
the lilies, the pinks; my mother's hand had planted them, and
they bloomed for me. I culled the most beautiful. I looked at
them on every side. I kissed them, I pressed them to my bosom
with passionate emotions, such as I have never dared express
to any human being.
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