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.
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Flowers are words
Which even a babe may understand.
Flowers are words
Which even a babe may understand.
Not a flower
But shows some touch, in freckle, streak or stain,
Of his unrivall'd pencil.
Not a flower
But shows some touch, in freckle, streak or stain,
Of his unrivall'd pencil.
As for marigolds, poppies, hollyhocks, and valorous sunflowers,
we shall never have a garden without them, both for their read more
As for marigolds, poppies, hollyhocks, and valorous sunflowers,
we shall never have a garden without them, both for their own
sake, and for the sake of old-fashioned folks, who used to love
them.
They know the time to go!
The fairy clocks strike their inaudible hour
In field and woodland, read more
They know the time to go!
The fairy clocks strike their inaudible hour
In field and woodland, and each punctual flower
Bows at the signal an obedient head
And hastens to bed.
The flower-girl's prayer to buy roses and pinks,
Held out in the smoke, like stars by day.
The flower-girl's prayer to buy roses and pinks,
Held out in the smoke, like stars by day.
Loveliest of lovely things are they On earth, that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour Is read more
Loveliest of lovely things are they On earth, that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyond the sculptured flower.
Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.
Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.
Mourn, little harebells, o'er the lea;
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see!
Ye woodbines, hanging bonnilie
read more
Mourn, little harebells, o'er the lea;
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see!
Ye woodbines, hanging bonnilie
In scented bowers!
Ye roses on your thorny tree
The first o' flow'rs.
Who that has loved knows not the tender tale
Which flowers reveal, when lips are coy to tell?
read more
Who that has loved knows not the tender tale
Which flowers reveal, when lips are coy to tell?
- Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer-Lytton, first Baron Lytton,
