It is a great art to saunter.
~ Henry David Thoreau
Let me walk through the fields of papertouching with my wanddry stems and stuntedbutterflies.
~ Denise Levertov
There is a path, a little path,Goes winding thru the meadow hay,That leadeth on o'er many a swath,A sweet and pleasant way.
~ John Clare
Let me today do something that shall take
A little sadness from the world's vast store,
And may I be so favoured as to make
Of joy's too scanty sum a little more.
~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox
And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espiedA snow-white mountain-lamb with a Maiden at its side.
~ William Wordsworth
Painting: The Shepherdess (Detail) by William-Adolphe Bouguereau
The clouds were pure and white as flocks new shorn.
~ John Keats
O the flower of all the forest was Mary Littlechild;There's few could be so dear to me and none could be so fair.While many love the garden flowers I still esteem the wild,And Mary of the forest is the fairest blossom there.
We humans –squirming aroundamong the blossoming flowers.
~ Kobayashi Issa
Light tomorrow with today!
~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning
O, how ripe in showThy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!
~ William Shakespeare
How beautiful and fresh the pastoral smellOf tedded hay breathes in this early morn!
Painting: Haymaking by Julien Dupre
The subtle beauty of this dayHangs o'er me like a fairy spell,And care and grief have flown away,And every breeze sings, "all is well."
Make me a picture of the sun –
So I can hang it in my room –
And make believe I'm getting warm
When others call it "Day"!
~ Emily Dickinson
I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of any thing than of a book!
~ Jane Austen
When I see my baby,
What do I see?
Poetry in motion.
~ Johnny Tillotson
Stop and take the time to smell the roses.
~ Ringo Starr
I am alone, in spite of love,In spite of all I take and give –In spite of all your tenderness,Sometimes I am not glad to live.
~ Sara Teasdale
With every rising of the sun,Think of your life as just begun.
And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.
~ Khalil Gibran
I seek her in the shady grove,And by the silent stream;I seek her where my fancies rove,In many a happy dream.
Painting: Young Woman Seated by a Stream by Wilhelm Amberg
Blown from the west,Fallen leaves gatherIn the east.
~ Yosa Buson
We should be blessed if we lived in the present always, and took advantage of every accident that befell us, like the grass which confesses the influence of the slightest dew that falls on it.
If it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn't, it ain't. That's logic.
~ Lewis CarrollThrough The Looking-Glass
I believe that water is the only drink for a wise man.
My days are in the yellow leaf;The flowers and fruits of love are gone;The worm, the canker, and the griefAre mine alone!
~ Lord Byron
Once againDo I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,That on a wild secluded scene impressThoughts of more deep seclusion; and connectThe landscape with the quiet of the sky.
And what is Life? An hour-glass on the run,A mist retreating from the morning sun.
I walked alone in depths of autumn woods.
~ Albert Laighton
And myriad leaves, on which the Summer wroteHer blushing farewells, at my feet were strown.
Know'st thou not at the fall of the leafHow the heart feels a languid griefLaid on it for a covering,And how sleep seems a goodly thingIn Autumn at the fall of the leaf?
~ Dante Gabriel Rossetti
You will never be alone with a poet in your pocket.
~ John Adams
And yet the wiser mindMourns less for what age takes awayThan what it leaves behind.
Painting: William Wordsworth by Henry William Pickersgill
The leaves, like women, interchangeSagacious confidence.
Painting: Under The Greenwood Tree by George Henry
But memory is an autumn leaf that murmurs a while in the wind and then is heard no more.
Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson.
~ William Cullen Bryant
This Englishwoman is so refinedShe has no bosom and no behind.
~ Stevie Smith
The rose with such a bonny blush,What has the rose to blush about?If it's the sun that makes her flush,What's in the sun to flush about?
~ Christina Rossetti
Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?Think not of them, thou hast thy music too.
~ John KeatsTo Autumn
And thy deep eyes, amid the gloom,Shine like jewels in a shroud.
~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Because of your love,I have lost my sobriety.I am intoxicatedby the madness of love.
Painting: Love Scene by Unkown Artist
How frail the bloom, how short the stayThat terminates us all!Today we flourish green and gay,Like leaves tomorrow fall.
Oh I pity the naked branches,When the skies are dull and gray,And the last leaf whispers softly,"Good-bye, I am going away."
Now Morning from her orient chamber came,And her first footsteps touched a verdant hill.