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Updated: May 15, 2025
Helpmates and hearthmates, gladdeners of gone years, Tender companions of our serious days, Who colour with your kisses, smiles, and tears, Life's worn web woven over wonted ways. LYTTON. "How does he seem now?" said Geraldine, as Lancelot came into the drawing-room of St. Andrew's Rock at Rockquay, in the full glare of a cold east windy May evening.
It was one of the vagrant late gladdeners of the earth that his eye chanced to light upon. It held him, somehow. It was wide open so wide that there was a white spot in its yellow center and close above it drooped, a beech-tree's branch, so close that one long green leaf hung just above the petals. And upon this green leaf the dew was gathering. The man looked at the flower.
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