Here and there, breaking the cold monotone, a bush
of moose maple shows the white-streaked green of its bare stems and
sprays, or cornus or willow gives a soft glow of red, purple or yellow.
Only here and there, insists my dream, lest when winter at length gives
way to the "rosy time of the year" their large and rustic gentleness
mar the nuptial revels of summer's returned aristocracy. Because,
moreover, there is a far stronger effect of life, home and cheer from
the broad-leaved evergreens which, in duly limited numbers, assemble
with and behind these, and from the lither sorts of conifers that spire
out of the network and haze of living things in winter sleep. The
plantings at the garden's and dwelling's front being properly, of
course, lower than those farther back, I see among them, in this dream,
the evergreen box and several kinds of evergreen ferns. I see two or
three species of evergreen barberries, not to speak of Thunberg's
leafless one warm red with its all-winter berries, the winter garden's
rubric. I see two varieties of euonymus; various low junipers; two sorts
of laurel; two of andromeda, and the high-clambering evergreen ivy.
Beginning with these in front, infrequent there but multiplying toward
the place's rear, are bush and tree forms of evergreen holly, native
rhododendrons, the many sorts of foreign cedars and our native ones
white and red, their skyward lines modified as the square or pointed
architecture of the house may call for contrasts in pointed or
broad-topped arborescence.
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