Quotes
Quotes about Flowers
The world is a fearful emptiness. But birds and flowers grant some little consolation
Fossil flowers come from the Petrified Florist.
Fossil flowers come from the Petrified Florist.
Those who would have nothing to do with thorns must neve attempt to gather flowers.
Fossil flowers come from the Petrified Florist.
Those who would have nothing to do with thorns must neve attempt to gather flowers.
Those who would have nothing to do with thorns must never attempt to gather flowers.
Those who would have nothing to do with thorns must never attempt to gather flowers.
Earth laughs in flowers.
Read my little fable: He that runs may read. Most can raise the flowers now, For all have got the seed.
"Not to admire, is all the art I know (Plain truth, dear Murray, needs few flowers of speech) To make men happy, or to keep them so." (So take it in the very words of Creech) Thus Horace wrote we all know long ago; And thus Pope quotes the precept to re-teach From his translation; but had none admired, Would Pope have sung, or Horace been inspired?
My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief Are mine alone! - Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron),
What plant we in this apple tree? Sweets for a hundred flowery springs To load the May-wind's restless wings, When, from the orchard-row, he pours Its fragrance through our open doors; A world of blossoms for the bee, Flowers for the sick girl's silent room, For the glad infant sprigs of bloom, We plant with the apple tree.
When April winds Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, high up, Opened in airs of June her multiple OF golden chalices to humming birds And silken-wing'd insects of the sky.
For April sobs while these are so glad April weeps while these are so gay,-- Weeps like a tired child who had, Playing with flowers, lost its way.
Sweet April-time--O cruel April-time! Year after year returning, with a brow Of promise, and red lips with longing paled, And backward-hidden hands that clutch the joys Of vanished springs, like flowers.
From you have I been absent in the spring, When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim, Hath put a spirit of youth in everything, That heavy Saturn laughed and leapt with him; Yet nor the lays of birds, not the sweet smell Of different flowers in odor and in hue, Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew: Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. Yet seemed it winter still, and you away, As with your shadow I with these did play.
Sweet April showers Do bring May flowers.
Again the blackbirds sings; the streams Wake, laughing, from their winter dreams, And tremble in the April showers The tassels of the maple flowers.
Chide me not, laborious band! For the idle flowers I brought; Every aster in my hand Goes home loaded with a thought.
O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit Beneath my shady roof; there thou mayest rest And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe, And all the daughters of the year shall dance! Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.
Ye flowers that drop, forsaken by the spring, Ye birds that, left by summer, cease to sing, Ye trees that fade, when Autumn heats remove, Say, is not absence death to those who love?
The careful insect 'midst his works I view, Now from the flowers exhaust the fragrant dew, With golden treasures load his little thighs, And steer his distant journey through the skies.
Listen! O, listen! Here come the hum the golden bees Underneath full blossomed trees, At once with glowing fruit and flowers crowned.
FOUR FLOWERS The Sun Arose in Morning Glory with His Goldenrod Wanding Violet to Rose (to C and R Davis of Maryland).
