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Where fall the tears of love the rose appears,
And where the ground is bright with friendship's tears,
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Where fall the tears of love the rose appears,
And where the ground is bright with friendship's tears,
Forget-me-not, and violets, heavenly blue,
Spring glittering with the cheerful drops like dew.
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.
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.
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.
Mama was my greatest teacher, a teacher of compassion, love and fearlessness. If love is sweet as a flower, then read more
Mama was my greatest teacher, a teacher of compassion, love and fearlessness. If love is sweet as a flower, then my mother is that sweet flower of love.
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!
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.
Mourn, little harebells, o'er the lea;
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see!
Ye woodbines, hanging bonnilie
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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.
Flowers grow out of dark moments.
Flowers grow out of dark moments.
