"Shut your eyes." He closed his eyes and lay quite still and she held his hand and began to speak very slowly and in a very low voice.
"I think it has been left alone so long--that it has grown all into a lovely tangle.

I think the roses have climbed and climbed and climbed until they hang from the branches and walls and creep over the ground--almost like a strange gray mist.

Some of them have died but many--are alive and when the summer comes there will be curtains and fountains of roses.

I think the ground is full of daffodils and snowdrops and lilies and iris working their way out of the dark.

Now the spring has begun--perhaps--perhaps--" The soft drone of her voice was making him stiller and stiller and she saw it and went on.
"Perhaps they are coming up through the grass--perhaps there are clusters of purple crocuses and gold ones--even now.