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- Луиза Мэй Олкотт
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Valrosa
well
deserved
its
name
,
for
in
that
climate
of
perpetual
summer
roses
blossomed
everywhere
.
They
overhung
the
archway
,
thrust
themselves
between
the
bars
of
the
great
gate
with
a
sweet
welcome
to
passers
-
by
,
and
lined
the
avenue
,
winding
through
lemon
trees
and
feathery
palms
up
to
the
villa
on
the
hill
.
Every
shadowy
nook
,
where
seats
invited
one
to
stop
and
rest
,
was
a
mass
of
bloom
,
every
cool
grotto
had
its
marble
nymph
smiling
from
a
veil
of
flowers
and
every
fountain
reflected
crimson
,
white
,
or
pale
pink
roses
,
leaning
down
to
smile
at
their
own
beauty
.
Roses
covered
the
walls
of
the
house
,
draped
the
cornices
,
climbed
the
pillars
,
and
ran
riot
over
the
balustrade
of
the
wide
terrace
,
whence
one
looked
down
on
the
sunny
Mediterranean
,
and
the
white
-
walled
city
on
its
shore
.
"
This
is
a
regular
honeymoon
paradise
,
isn
’
t
it
?
Did
you
ever
see
such
roses
?
"
asked
Amy
,
pausing
on
the
terrace
to
enjoy
the
view
,
and
a
luxurious
whiff
of
perfume
that
came
wandering
by
.
"
No
,
nor
felt
such
thorns
,
"
returned
Laurie
,
with
his
thumb
in
his
mouth
,
after
a
vain
attempt
to
capture
a
solitary
scarlet
flower
that
grew
just
beyond
his
reach
.
"
Try
lower
down
,
and
pick
those
that
have
no
thorns
,
"
said
Amy
,
gathering
three
of
the
tiny
cream
-
colored
ones
that
starred
the
wall
behind
her
.
She
put
them
in
his
buttonhole
as
a
peace
offering
,
and
he
stood
a
minute
looking
down
at
them
with
a
curious
expression
,
for
in
the
Italian
part
of
his
nature
there
was
a
touch
of
superstition
,
and
he
was
just
then
in
that
state
of
half
-
sweet
,
half
-
bitter
melancholy
,
when
imaginative
young
men
find
significance
in
trifles
and
food
for
romance
everywhere
.
He
had
thought
of
Jo
in
reaching
after
the
thorny
red
rose
,
for
vivid
flowers
became
her
,
and
she
had
often
worn
ones
like
that
from
the
greenhouse
at
home
.
The
pale
roses
Amy
gave
him
were
the
sort
that
the
Italians
lay
in
dead
hands
,
never
in
bridal
wreaths
,
and
for
a
moment
he
wondered
if
the
omen
was
for
Jo
or
for
himself
,
but
the
next
instant
his
American
common
sense
got
the
better
of
sentimentality
,
and
he
laughed
a
heartier
laugh
than
Amy
had
heard
since
he
came
.
"
It
’
s
good
advice
,
you
’
d
better
take
it
and
save
your
fingers
,
"
she
said
,
thinking
her
speech
amused
him
.
"
Thank
you
,
I
will
,
"
he
answered
in
jest
,
and
a
few
months
later
he
did
it
in
earnest
.
"
Laurie
,
when
are
you
going
to
your
grandfather
?
"
she
asked
presently
,
as
she
settled
herself
on
a
rustic
seat
.
"
Very
soon
.
"
