oidered with strange bloom? Tall, slender
rushes stand there, bending gracefully when the wind passes, and
answering with music to the touch. Have you ever heard the song
of the marshes when the wind moves through the rushes and plays
upon them like strings? Some day, I will take you there, and you
shall listen, too, and tell me what you think it means.

"Here and there are pools, set like jewels among the rushes,
with never a hint of growth. Sometimes you see a wide sweep of
grass, starred with tiny yellow flowers, or a lily, surrounded
by its leaves, drinking in the loveliness of the day and
forgetting all the maze of slime and dark water through which it
has somehow come. I think our souls are like that, Iris--we grow
through the world, with all its darkness, borne upward by
unfailing aspiration, until we reach the end, which we have been
taught to call Heaven, but which is only blossoming in the
light.

"But of all the radiant beauty of marshes, the best is
this--that part of it which bears the purple flower of your
name. In and out of the rushes, like the thread of a strange
tapestry, it winds and wanders, hidden for an instant, maybe,
but never lost. I have gathered an armful of the blossoms, and
put my face down to them, closing my eyes, and dreaming that
it was you--you whom I must ever hold apart as something too
beautiful for me to touch--you, whom I can only love from afar.

"I have told you that I would come when the iris bloomed, but
now, when the marsh is glorious with the purple banners, I dare
not. It is not only because you are sad, though not for worlds
would I trouble you now, but because I am afraid.

"Only in my wildest moments do I dare to hope--you were never
meant for such as I. By day, I bow my soul before you in shame
at my own unworthiness, but at night, like some flaming star
which speeds across the uncharted dark, you light the barren
country of my dreams.

"I think sometimes that I shall never dare to tell you; that it
must be like this, year after year. If you knew your lover, who
is so bold and yet so fearful, I think you would cast him aside
in scorn. So it is better for me to believe, though that belief
has no foundation,--better for me to hope than utterly to
despair. Without you, I dare not think what life might be.

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