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Flowers are words
Which even a babe may understand.
Flowers are words
Which even a babe may understand.
The windflower and the violet, they perished long ago,
And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer read more
The windflower and the violet, they perished long ago,
And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow;
But on the hills the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood,
And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood,
Till fell the first from the clear cold heaven, as falls the
plague on men,
And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland glade and
glen.
Brazen helm of daffodillies,
With a glitter toward the light.
Purple violets for the mouth,
read more
Brazen helm of daffodillies,
With a glitter toward the light.
Purple violets for the mouth,
Breathing perfumes west and south;
And a sword of flashing lilies,
Holden ready for the fight.
Flowers have an expression of countenance as much as men and
animals. Some seem to smile; some have a read more
Flowers have an expression of countenance as much as men and
animals. Some seem to smile; some have a sad expression; some
are pensive and diffident; others again are plain, honest and
upright, like the broad-faced sunflower and the hollyhock.
A wedding is just like a funeral except that you get to smell your own flowers.
A wedding is just like a funeral except that you get to smell your own flowers.
Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime rot and consume themselves in little time.
Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime rot and consume themselves in little time.
The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn,
And violets bathe in the wet o' the morn.
The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn,
And violets bathe in the wet o' the morn.
Big doesn't necessarily mean better. Sunflowers aren't better than violets.
Big doesn't necessarily mean better. Sunflowers aren't better than violets.
Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue?
And where is the violet's beautiful blue?
Does aught read more
Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue?
And where is the violet's beautiful blue?
Does aught of its sweetness the blossom beguile?
That meadow, those daisies, why do they not smile?
