Inscriptions in Court of Seasons (a) On arch at east side: So Forth Issew'd the Seasons of The Yeare--First Lusty Spring All Dight in Leaves and Flowres. Then Came the Jolly Sommer Being Dight In A Thin Silken Cassock Coloured Greene. Then Came the Autumne All in Yellow Clad. Lastly Came Winter Cloathed All in Frize Chattering His Teeth For Cold that Did Him Chill. --Spenser. (b) On arch at west side: For Lasting Happiness We Turn Our Eyes To One Alone And She Surrounds You Now. Great Nature Refuge of the Weary Heart And Only Balm To Breasts That Have Been Bruised. She Hath Cool Hands For Every Fevered Brow And Gentlest Silence For the Troubled Soul. --Sterling. IX. The Courts of Flowers and Palms The Court of Flowers typically Italian--Its delightful garden and fountain, "Beauty and the Beast," by Edgar Walter--Borglum's fine group, "The Pioneer"--The Court of Palms is Grecian in feeling--"The End of the Trail," by Fraser, a chapter in American history--Murals in the doorways--Arthur Mathews' "Triumph of Culture." Recessed in the south front of the palace group, and leading back to the Court of the Seasons and the Court of the Ages, are two perfect smaller courts, each admirably living up to its name--the Court of Flowers and the Court of Palms. (See p. 85, 88, 93.) Both courts were designed by George W. Kelham. Each is a pleasant and colorful bay of sunshine facing southward between two graceful towers. One is bright with level fields of flowers, the other cool with greensward and palms set about a sunken garden. Both are calm, peaceful spots to rest and dream in the sun. Both are of the South. Here summer first unfolds her robes, and here she longest tarries. Though at first sight these courts are much alike, they differ in feeling and effect. The Court of Flowers is Italian, the Court of Palms Grecian, though Grecian with an exuberance scarcely Athenian. Perhaps there is something Sicilian in the warmth of its decoration. When it is bright and warm, the Court of Palms is most Greek in feeling; less so on duller days. But the Court of Flowers is Italian in all moods. With its shady balcony above the colonnade, it might be in Verona or Mantua. It is a graceful court, formal, yet curiously informal. Its paired Corinthian columns, its conventional lions by the porches and its flower girls around the balcony, its lamp standards and the sculptured fountain, go with formal gardens. The garden here is itself formal in its planting, and yet so simple, so natural, that it banishes all ceremony.