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The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.
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.
The moon is at her full, and riding high, Floods the calm fields with light. The airs that hover in the summer sky Are all asleep tonight.
There is no glory in star or blossom till looked upon by a loving eye; There is no fragrance in April breezes till breathed with joy as they wander... →
Winning isn't everything, but it beats anything in second place.
The little windflower, whose just opened eye is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.
Weep not that the world changes - did it keep a stable, changeless state, it were cause indeed to weep.
Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings.
The groves were God's first temples.
Thine eyes are springs in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen. Their lashes are the herbs that look On their young figures in the brook.
Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go; the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.
A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.
To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.
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