THE BLUE FLOWER
by HENRY VAN DYKE
The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion for something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow.
THE DEAR MEMORY OF
BERNARD VAN DYKE
AND THE LOVE THAT LIVES
BEYOND THE YEARS
Sometimes short stories are brought together like parcels in
a basket. Sometimes they grow together like blossoms on a
bush. Then, of course, they really belong to one another,
because they have the same life in them.