It is not so much for its beauty that the forest makes a claim upon men's hearts, as for that read more

It is not so much for its beauty that the forest makes a claim upon men's hearts, as for that subtle something, that quality of air that emanation from old trees, that so wonderfully changes and renews a weary spirit.

A garden must combine the poetic and he mysterious with a feeling of serenity and joy.

A garden must combine the poetic and he mysterious with a feeling of serenity and joy.

How long can men thrive between walls of brick, walking on asphalt pavements, breathing the fumes of coal and of read more

How long can men thrive between walls of brick, walking on asphalt pavements, breathing the fumes of coal and of oil, growing, working, dying, with hardly a thought of wind, and sky, and fields of grain, seeing only machine-made beauty, the mineral-like quality of life?

Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds,
Exhilarate the spirit, and restore
The tone of languid Nature.

Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds,
Exhilarate the spirit, and restore
The tone of languid Nature.

I've made an odd discovery. Every time I talk to a savant I feel quite sure that happiness is no read more

I've made an odd discovery. Every time I talk to a savant I feel quite sure that happiness is no longer a possibility. Yet when I talk with my gardener, I'm convinced of the opposite.

And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, read more

And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.

Forests, lakes, and rivers, clouds and winds, stars and flowers, stupendous glaciers and crystal snowflakes - every form of animate read more

Forests, lakes, and rivers, clouds and winds, stars and flowers, stupendous glaciers and crystal snowflakes - every form of animate or inanimate existence, leaves its impress upon the soul of man.

Nothing is rich but the inexhaustible wealth of nature. She shows us only surfaces, but she is a million fathoms read more

Nothing is rich but the inexhaustible wealth of nature. She shows us only surfaces, but she is a million fathoms deep.

Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf, the duel of read more

Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf, the duel of two nightingales, the sweet pea that has run wild, Creation's tears in shoulder blades.