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?

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.

Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.

Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.

The berries of the brier rose
Have lost their rounded pride:
The bitter-sweet chrysanthemums
read more

The berries of the brier rose
Have lost their rounded pride:
The bitter-sweet chrysanthemums
Are drooping heavy-eyed.

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.

Where fall the tears of love the rose appears,
And where the ground is bright with friendship's tears,
read more

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.

Yet here's eglantine,
Here's ivy!--take them as I used to do
Thy flowers, and keep them where read more

Yet here's eglantine,
Here's ivy!--take them as I used to do
Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine.
Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true,
And tell thy soul their roots are left in mine.

Every flower is a soul blossoming in Nature.

Every flower is a soul blossoming in Nature.

Art is the unceasing effort to compete with the beauty of flowers - and never succeeding.

Art is the unceasing effort to compete with the beauty of flowers - and never succeeding.