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.

Ah, ah, Cytherea! Adonis is dead.
She wept tear after tear, with the blood which was shed,--
read more

Ah, ah, Cytherea! Adonis is dead.
She wept tear after tear, with the blood which was shed,--
And both turned into flowers for the earth's garden-close;
Her tears, to the wind-flower,--his blood, to the rose.

The earth laughs in flowers.

The earth laughs in flowers.

Flowers always make people better, happier and more helpful; they are sunshine, food and medicine to the soul.

Flowers always make people better, happier and more helpful; they are sunshine, food and medicine to the soul.

Flowers are restful to look at. They have neither emotions nor conflicts.

Flowers are restful to look at. They have neither emotions nor conflicts.

A root is a flower that disdains fame.

A root is a flower that disdains fame.

I hate flowers -- I paint them because they're cheaper than models and they don't move.

I hate flowers -- I paint them because they're cheaper than models and they don't move.

Ye field flowers! the gardens eclipse you 'tis true:
Yet wildings of nature, I dote upon you,
read more

Ye field flowers! the gardens eclipse you 'tis true:
Yet wildings of nature, I dote upon you,
For ye waft me to summers of old,
When the earth teem'd around me with fairy delight,
And when daisies and buttercups gladden'd my sight,
Like treasures of silver and gold.

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!