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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.
For 200 years we've been conquering nature. Now we're beating it to death.
For 200 years we've been conquering nature. Now we're beating it to death.
What humbugs we are, who pretend to live for Beauty, and never see the Dawn!
What humbugs we are, who pretend to live for Beauty, and never see the Dawn!
Nature has been for me, for as long as I remember, a source of solace, inspiration, adventure, and delight; a read more
Nature has been for me, for as long as I remember, a source of solace, inspiration, adventure, and delight; a home, a teacher, a companion.
Got no check books, got no banks. Still I'd like to express my thanks - I got the sun in read more
Got no check books, got no banks. Still I'd like to express my thanks - I got the sun in the mornin' and the moon at night.
There is that in the glance of a flower which may at times control the greatest of creation's braggart lords.
There is that in the glance of a flower which may at times control the greatest of creation's braggart lords.
To the artist there is never anything ugly in nature.
To the artist there is never anything ugly in nature.
For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the read more
For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.
