garden soon fadeth, and that the
enjoyment of the rose-bush is of short continuance; and the sages have
declared that the heart ought not to be set upon anything that is
transitory.' He asked: 'What course is then to be pursued?' I replied:
'I am able to form a book of roses, which will delight the beholders and
gratify those who are present; whose leaves the tyrannic arm of autumnal
blasts can never affect, or injure the blossoms of its spring. What
benefit will you derive from a basket of flowers? Carry a leaf from my
garden: a rose may continue in bloom five or six days, but this
Rose-Garden will flourish for ever.' As soon as I had uttered these
words, he flung the flowers from his lap, and, laying hold of the skirt
of my garment, exclaimed: 'When the beneficent promise, they faithfully
discharge their engagements.' In the course of a few days two chapters
were written in my note-book, in a style that may be useful to orators
and improve the skill of letter-writers. In short, while the rose was
still in bloom, the book called the Rose-Garden was finished."

Dr. Johnson has remarked that "there is scarcely any poet of eminence
who has not left some testimony of his fondness for the flowers, the
zephyrs, and the warblers of the spring." This is pre-eminently the case
of Oriental poets, from Solomon downwards: "Rise up, my love, my fair
one, and come away," exclaims the Hebrew poet in his Book of Canticles:
"for lo! the winter is past, the rain is over and gone: the flowers
appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds has come, and the
voice of the turtle is heard in our land. The fig-tree putteth forth her
green fruits, and the vines with the tender grapes give forth a good
smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away."

In a Persian poem written in the 14th century the delights of the vernal
season are thus described: "On every bush roses were blowing; on every
branch the nightingale was plaintively warbling. The tall cypress was
dancing in the garden; and the poplar never ceased clapping its hands
with joy. With a loud voice from the top of every bough the turtle-dove
was proclaiming the glad advent of spring. The diadem of the narcissus
shone with such splendour that you would have said it was the crown of
the Emperor of China. On this side the north wind, on that, the west
wind, were, in token of affection, scattering dirhams at the feet of the
rose.[3] The earth was musk-scented, the air musk-laden.