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.
You May Also Like / View all maxioms
Flowers are words
Which even a babe may understand.
Flowers are words
Which even a babe may understand.
Flowers grow out of dark moments.
Flowers grow out of dark moments.
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.
Ah, ah, Cytherea! Adonis is dead.
She wept tear after tear, with the blood which was shed,--
read more
Ah, ah, Cytherea! Adonis is dead.
She wept tear after tear, with the blood which was shed,--
And both turned into flowers for the earth's garden-close;
Her tears, to the wind-flower,--his blood, to the rose.
A kiss without a hug is like a flower without the fragrance.
A kiss without a hug is like a flower without the fragrance.
Flowers are restful to look at. They have neither emotions nor conflicts.
Flowers are restful to look at. They have neither emotions nor conflicts.
I hate flowers -- I paint them because they're cheaper than models and they don't move.
I hate flowers -- I paint them because they're cheaper than models and they don't move.
Flowers. . . are a proud assertion that a ray of beauty outvalues all the utilities of the world.
Flowers. . . are a proud assertion that a ray of beauty outvalues all the utilities of the world.
I know not which I love the most,
Nor which the comeliest shows,
The timid, bashful violet
read more
I know not which I love the most,
Nor which the comeliest shows,
The timid, bashful violet
Or the royal-hearted rose:
The pansy in purple dress,
The pink with cheek of red,
Or the faint, fair heliotrope, who hangs,
Like a bashful maid her head.
