The Old-World Garden

"My love is like a glowing tulip that in an old-world garden grows."

In the novel The Girl on The Boat by English author P.G. Wodehouse, one of the protagonists of the story refers to the aforementioned ballad lyric as humorless and a little boring. In actuality, it's not the song that distresses him, but rather his cousin, the would be singer, who was once engaged to the girl the protagonist ends up falling in love with. 

As a gardener, the image of an old-world garden is extremely appealing to me. In my mind, I picture stone or concrete statues and benches throughout. There's an arbor made of metal rods glazed with patina and enclosed by wandering green vines, where one has a spot of tea at least three times a day. Beautiful trees hover above spots of shade and picnic blankets. Neatly trimmed shrubs work in unison to create a maze I could stay lost in for days. I envision row upon row of austere roses and huge lush flowers in all hues, each pollinated by lazy buzzing bees and watched over by frantic humming birds with slender beaks and agitated wings. I imagine an old-world garden as one I've never seen before, but would be instantly familiar with if I were to come across it.