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.
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Who that has loved knows not the tender tale
Which flowers reveal, when lips are coy to tell?
read more
Who that has loved knows not the tender tale
Which flowers reveal, when lips are coy to tell?
- Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer-Lytton, first Baron Lytton,
Loveliest of lovely things are they On earth, that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour Is read more
Loveliest of lovely things are they On earth, that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyond the sculptured flower.
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?
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.
Beauty, unaccompanied by virtue, is as a flower without perfume.
Beauty, unaccompanied by virtue, is as a flower without perfume.
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.
Brazen helm of daffodillies,
With a glitter toward the light.
Purple violets for the mouth,
read more
Brazen helm of daffodillies,
With a glitter toward the light.
Purple violets for the mouth,
Breathing perfumes west and south;
And a sword of flashing lilies,
Holden ready for the fight.
Not a flower
But shows some touch, in freckle, streak or stain,
Of his unrivall'd pencil.
Not a flower
But shows some touch, in freckle, streak or stain,
Of his unrivall'd pencil.
A flower, when offered in the bud, is no vain sacrifice.
A flower, when offered in the bud, is no vain sacrifice.
