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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.
Yet here's eglantine,
Here's ivy!--take them as I used to do
Thy flowers, and keep them where read more
Yet here's eglantine,
Here's ivy!--take them as I used to do
Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine.
Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true,
And tell thy soul their roots are left in mine.
Beauty, unaccompanied by virtue, is as a flower without perfume.
Beauty, unaccompanied by virtue, is as a flower without perfume.
Flowers are Love's truest language; they betray,
Like the divining rods of Magi old,
Where precious wealth read more
Flowers are Love's truest language; they betray,
Like the divining rods of Magi old,
Where precious wealth lies buried, not of gold,
But love--strong love, that never can decay!
Earth laughs in flowers.
Earth laughs in flowers.
And lilies are still lilies, pulled
By smutty hands, though spotted from their white.
And lilies are still lilies, pulled
By smutty hands, though spotted from their white.
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.
Little things seem nothing, but they give peace, like those meadow flowers which individually seem odorless but all together perfume read more
Little things seem nothing, but they give peace, like those meadow flowers which individually seem odorless but all together perfume the air.
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?
