Hesperis matronalis

Heading as we are into that most delirious of garden seasons, early summer, I’ve been enjoying the lovely clouds of Dame’s Rocket (Hesperis matronalis) that are blooming everywhere now. My enjoyment is guilty, because naturalists blast it as a European introduction–it was brought here in the 17th century as a garden flower–that has become rampant. It has been described as being like an “overdressed matron wearing too much cheap perfume,” and its color as “gaudy.” Gaudy? The flowers range from white to pale lavender to a soft lavender rose, and couldn’t be softer. And I just stepped out to inhale its sweet, phlox-like fragrance. Each to his own.

So I enjoy it stealthily, surreptitiously, as it personifies the beauty of wildflowers to me–wayward and windblown, clean and lacy.

DSCF4250 — The four-petaled, cross-shaped flowers of Dame’s Rocket betray its origin in the cabbage family–the “crucifers.”

hesperis — A page of white and mauve crucifers from “The Wild Flowers of Britain and Northern Europe.’

The Latin name of Dame’s Rocket comes from Hesperia, the Greek goddess of the evening star. She was one of the Hesperides, nymphs who tended a blissful garden in the far western corner of the world.

In closing, I found this lovely poem called “Hesperus,” by C.S. Lewis and thought you might enjoy.

Through the starry hollow
Of the summer night
I would follow, follow
Hesperus the bright,
To seek beyond the western wave
His garden of delight.

Hesperus the fairest
Of all gods that are,
Peace and dreams thou bearest
In thy shadowy car,
And often in my evening walks
I’ve blessed thee from afar.

Stars without number,
Dust the noon of night,
Thou the early slumber
And the still delight
Of the gentle twilit hours
Rulest in thy right.

When the pale skies shiver,
Seeing night is done,
Past the ocean-river,
Lightly thou dost run,
To look for pleasant, sleepy lands,
That never fear the sun.

Where, beyond the waters
Of the outer sea,
Thy triple crown of daughters
That guards the golden tree
Sing out across the lonely tide
A welcome home to thee.

And while the old, old dragon
For joy lifts up his head,
They bring thee forth a flagon
Of nectar foaming red,
And underneath the drowsy trees
Of poppies strew thy bed.

Ah! that I could follow
In thy footsteps bright,
Through the starry hollow
Of the summer night,
Sloping down the western ways
To find my heart’s delight!

Poem from PoemHunter.com.

The longer I garden, the more I enjoy the subtleties of plants in all their stages of growth. Flowering, however beautiful, is no longer the main event in my eyes. The beauty of emerging leaves and buds also merits interest, and right now in my garden, buds are opening everywhere.

A word about Mrs. Cholmondeley. This clematis dates from 1873, and is pronounced “Mrs. Chumley.” I happened across this in my research, and am glad that I have saved us all from the embarrassment of pronouncing it with four syllables. There is a bit of a mystery to me about her color. The tag shows a purple-raspberry flower. The flowers in my garden are a dusty purple blue. On the Internet, she is blue. If only she could speak!