Quotes
Quotes about Flowers
Leaves have their time to fall,
And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath,
And stars to set; but all,
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!
No sun--no moon--no morn--no noon,
No dawn--no dusk--no proper time of day,
No warmth--no cheerfulness--no healthful ease,
No road, no street, no t' other side the way,
No comfortable feel in any member--
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,
November!
Tho' lost to sight, to memory dear
Thou ever wilt remain;
One only hope my heart can cheer,--
The hope to meet again.
Oh, fondly on the past I dwell,
And oft recall those hours
When, wandering down the shady dell,
We gathered the wild-flowers.
Yes, life then seemed one pure delight,
Tho' now each spot looks drear;
Yet tho' thy smile be lost to sight,
To memory thou art dear.
Oft in the tranquil hour of night,
When stars illume the sky,
I gaze upon each orb of light,
And wish that thou wert by.
I think upon that happy time,
That time so fondly loved,
When last we heard the sweet bells chime,
As thro' the fields we roved.
Meet me by moonlight alone,
And then I will tell you a tale
Must be told by the moonlight alone,
In the grove at the end of the vale!
You must promise to come, for I said
I would show the night-flowers their queen.
Nay, turn not away that sweet head,
'T is the loveliest ever was seen.
Earth laughs in flowers to see her boastful boys
Earth-proud, proud of the earth which is not theirs;
Who steer the plough, but can not steer their feet
Clear of the grave.
Yes, in the poor man's garden grow
Far more than herbs and flowers--
Kind thoughts, contentment, peace of mind,
And joy for weary hours.
Buy my flowers,--oh buy, I pray!
The blind girl comes from afar.
There is a reaper whose name is Death,
And with his sickle keen
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.
Spake full well, in language quaint and olden,
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine,
When he called the flowers, so blue and golden,
Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine.
Love not! love not! ye hopeless sons of clay;
Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly flowers--
Things that are made to fade and fall away,
Ere they have blossomed for a few short hours.
Flowers are Love's truest language.
Read my little fable:
He that runs may read.
Most can raise the flowers now,
For all have got the seed.
Let the children play
And sit like flowers upon thy grave
And crown with flowers,--that hardly have
A briefer blooming-tide than they.
Pale in her fading bowers the Summer stands,
Like a new Niobe with claspèd hands,
Silent above the flowers, her children lost,
Slain by the arrows of the early Frost.
There's no dearth of kindness
In this world of ours;
Only in our blindness
We gather thorns for flowers.
I hied me off to Arcady--
The month it was the month of May,
And all along the pleasant way,
The morning birds were mad with glee,
And all the flowers sprang up to see,
As I went on to Arcady.
Before the beginning of years
There came to the making of man
Time with a gift of tears,
Grief with a glass that ran,
Pleasure with pain for leaven,
Summer with flowers that fell,
Remembrance fallen from heaven,
And Madness risen from hell,
Strength without hands to smite,
Love that endures for a breath;
Night, the shadow of light,
And Life, the shadow of death.
Ah, yet would God this flesh of mine might be
Where air might wash and long leaves cover me;
Where tides of grass break into foam of flowers,
Or where the wind's feet shine along the sea.
Like rose-hued sea-flowers toward the heat,
They stretch and spread and wink
Their ten soft buds that part and meet.
The sweetest flowers in all the world--
A baby's hands.
In the midst of the fountain of wit there arises something bitter, which stings in the very flowers.
I have here only made a nosegay of culled flowers, and have brought nothing of my own but the thread that ties them together.
No path of flowers leads to glory.
For, lo! the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.
See how the live earth flowers. The land speaks my intent. Bear me accompaniment.
